


The Stag and the Hunter's Son

by Soupernabturel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Animal Castiel, Aromantic Dean Winchester, Case Fic, Character Death, Creature Castiel, Death and Rebirth, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Relationships - Freeform, Forest Spirit Castiel, Genderfluid Castiel, Hunter Dean Winchester, Hunter Sam Winchester, Interspecies Romance, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, No Angels in this Fic No DemonBlood Sam, POV Multiple, Seriously Guys Cas Will Be All The Animals, Telepathy, Temporary Character Death, sexually explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-08-07 08:36:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 126,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7708249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soupernabturel/pseuds/Soupernabturel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester was alive. And not just alive, but alive and purchasing <i>fabric softener</i> in a mountain hick town in <i>Vermont</i>.</p><p>Sam was going to kill him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> A hundred thanks to the lovely [Rabidbinbadger](http://rabidbinbadger.tumblr.com/) for betaing this monster for me!

****_**Keep on driving**_  
_**as the shadows grow longer**_  
_**Find your way home**_  
_**where the woods swell stronger;**_  
_**For the dusk will fall**_  
_**and the forest will call**_  
_**yet none can foretell your answer.** _

 

**_  
_**

A lone stag stood in an open field. Raised his head, eyes scouting the tree line.

One sound. Another. Then silence.

The stag shifted his hoof, pawing into the dirt. He waited and then, with the kind of speed usually only afforded to lightning, darted deeper into the forest and away.

 

 

**_Stowe, Vermont, 2015_ **

_**** _

There was something very visceral, as well as something very dreamlike, about stumbling across the path of someone you thought to be long gone. It was a feeling Sam Winchester would describe as akin to falling, as though every limb was flapping uncontrollably in freefall whilst remaining rigidly frozen. He probably looked more than a little ridiculous, standing outside on the sidewalk, fed suit collar to his neck to stave off the autumn chill- staring open mouthed in at a grocery store window. Ridiculous- or probably something a bit more worrying.

Yet, Sam didn’t care too much for how he appeared, especially now, completely uprooted. He hadn’t  forgotten all about the reason he was in Vermont in the first place, but hell, the hunt was pretty much inconsequential now, despite its severity.

He just couldn’t stop staring.

_My brother’s alive._

The words didn’t compute. In the figurative databanks of Sam’s mind, a little hamster in a running wheel was taking a ‘time out’. A tiny; ‘ _Gone Fishin’. Back in five’_ sign was pinned up and everything. It was as though every cog in his head had shut down, and his back was blanketed in a cape of goose bumps which were quickly spreading down his arms.

He had a very clear image in his mind of his elder brother’s face the last time he saw him.

It wasn’t difficult to see the changes now, ten years could do a lot to a person, but it was _him_.

Sam’s heart squeezed in his chest.

Dean Winchester was alive. And not just alive, but alive and purchasing _fabric softener_ in a mountain hick town in _Vermont_.

And Sam was going to kill him. ******  
**

Sam flinched when the shop bell dinged at his entry. His shoulders hunched up to his ears at the irritating sound, hands dug deeper into his pockets.

The teenager at the register, all pink pimples and bum-fluff, barely glanced up before returning his eyes to the magazine before him. _Playboy_ …classy. Sam rolled his shoulders back and took a steadying breath.

The store wasn’t that big, more one of those chain brands than anything else. Sam loitered by the magazine rack as he observed Dean moving about. He watched as Dean picked up milk, eggs, flour, a pack of toilet paper- the expensive kind, Sam noted, with the soft animal prints on the paper. They’d never had the stuff growing up. Most back-road motels  wouldn’t bother to splurge; it was one ply or nothing roaming around the _US of A_ with John Winchester, hunting, the family business. Even now in the bunker Sam just usually brought the simple stuff in the pack of twenty-five; not quite rubbing yourself raw with sandpaper, not quite wiping down with silk-

Okay. This was ridiculous. He noticed Dean had disappeared into another aisle, falling out of Sam’s sight. Gathering himself, Sam took a few deliberate steps forward, to escape into the next aisle after Dean-

A hand tapped him on the shoulder. Sam spun around, cursing that his hunter’s instincts hadn’t warned him he was being snuck up on.

A deep voice - deeper than he remembered, broke him out it.

“Look-buddy, you watching me? I’m flattered alright, but… _Sam_ ?”

Sam’s throat closed over, something a lot like a sob threatened to break free.

Dean had aged in the last ten years, which retrospectively, Sam knew he would have. The effects of  time had been dulled through the cloudy shop window though - seeing Dean from afar on a profile made it easy to see the brother as he had been the last time they spoke. But, here right in front of him; Dean was older, weathered, yet indescribably put together. He looked healthy and whole with deep crinkles about his eyes and well-worn stubble. He was happy, looked healthy. And was now staring at Sam, mouth agape.

Fuck.

“Hey, Dean.” Sam said, and hated himself for it. _Hey Dean?_

“Sammy-” Dean’s voice cracked but neither of them acknowledged it. Before Sam could take his next breath to form a reply Dean was right in front of him, up against him, grabbing him pulling him - with surprising strength- into his arms.

“Holy shit man,” he laughed, the sound travelling  through Sam’s chest like a lightning strike, “how the fuck tall are you?”

The hug was -it was... Sam swallowed and moved his hands up from his sides, encircled Dean’s back and gave him a pat. A goddamned pat.

“You’re alive huh?” said Sam. It seemed like the right thing to say, not necessarily the right time -- but it was better than anything else that was bunching up behind his Adam’s apple, threatening to break free.

Dean’s brows wormed into one disgruntled line. “Wait-” he said, pulling back. “You thought I was dead?”

Sam’s throat felt burned, he tried to swallow past it. “We didn’t know _what_ to think Dean. You disappeared.”  
  
“Sammy-”

“It’s Sam,” said Sam. He passed a hand down over his face. “And six-four.”  
  
“Christ.”

The moment, too raw for public, disintegrated quickly. Sam felt every line of him hold fast, waiting to take a breath when Dean too, rubbed a hand over his face, working his mouth with soundless words. His smile fell and he looked Sam over in a new light. Sized him up how Sam remembered him doing to the next big-bad or a suspicious hunter.

“Yeah. Look... Dean are you—”

Thankfully, Dean caught the gist when Sam gestured to him.

“Just, um, groceries man,” he said, shrugging, the full basket on his arm made his sweater sleeve ride up. Yes, Dean was wearing a sweater- a fucking sweater. Sam stared, it gave him something to focus on.

Dean cocked his head to the front counter. “Just let me—” At the same time as Sam jerked a thumb behind him to the exit. “I’ll—”

They both stopped, then Dean breathed out. He nodded tightly and the two just stood there in the aisle – beside the baby powder and expensive Hallmark cards – staring at each other a moment.  
  
“Right.” said Dean, cast a wan smile. He turned on his heel with a surprising amount of flare and headed quick smart to the front.

Sam ducked his head and power walked right out the front door, he didn’t even notice the bell as it trilled behind him.

Stowe. The kind of sickeningly domestic community that Sam was fairly certain was just one black and white paint-job away from turning into _Pleasantville_ . He’d never imagined Dean settling down Stepford – he’d never imagined him settling down _at all_ . Especially not amongst neatly manicured gardens, so out of place against the backdrop of a wild forest and mountain range. The town was so small Sam could stroll from one end to the other across the main road in what felt like a couple of minutes.

Dean walked out of the shop with three bags laced through his arms, full to the brim with an assortment of toilet paper, vegetables and meat. He still walked with his swaggered bow-legged step, and slowed his pace to something more of a cowboys-crawl when he noticed Sam watching him.

“Where’s your car?” Sam asked when Dean was finally close enough.

Dean’s arms seemed to strain under the weight of his bags. He made no move to ask Sam to help, and Sam wasn’t about to offer. “Walked.” Dean said, and jerked his head up north of the winding main road. “I live just up Maple.”

Walking to buy groceries, a sweater, ten years. “Oh,” said Sam and followed Dean wordlessly.

On all sides of the town were acres of dense forest, the trees with limbs so thick they blocked out the sky. They didn’t speak as they walked, and though Dean was a couple of inches shorter and bogged down by bags, Sam felt as though he had to walk hard to keep pace with his older brother. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Dean was trying to outrun him.

“Dean! Dean Winchester.”

Sam’s hand fell to his waistband, to the base of the pistol tucked there at the sudden shout – but he relaxed at the approach of an elderly woman.  
  
Dean shot him a look out of the corner of his eye, before he plastered on a smile, and shuffled one of the plastic bags up over his shoulder. “Afternoon, Mrs Flynn.”

The woman – looking to be somewhere in her seventies – power walked up to the two of them, blue-lycra clad and sweating.  
  
“Thought I’d catch you before you… ummf.” She stopped, huffed out a few breaths and beat her chest with a deep throaty gurgle. “Sorry, the lungs don’t quite work as well as they used to.”  
  
Dean gave a soft laugh and stepped around Sam to her side. “You can still wring out a few championship places out of the Fun Run – beat the pants off of me at least.”

There was a sound that threatened to escape Sam, something halfway between a short and a splutter. Dean in short shorts, hell, Dean running from something other than a monster or is feelings- it was impossible for Sam to imagine.

"Cheeky.” Mrs Flynn smiled, and touched his arm, which Dean didn’t shy away from.

“What would Cassie think, hearing you flirt like that.” She laughed.  
  
Dean eyes crinkled in genuine affection. “What Cas doesn’t know doesn’t hurt..” He smiled and Mrs Flynn returned the look, until her eyes fell on Sam and she took a step back, as though to try and take the lot of him in.

“Oh-hello..?”

“Agent—”

“My lil’ brother, Sammy.” Dean cut in, giving him the glare equivalent of an elbow to the ribs.

“Sam.” Sam corrected, smiling tightly. So much for maintaining a cover on this hunt.

“Oh,” Mrs Flynn said, pleasantly surprised. She looked between Sam and Dean with a new light, but directed to her words to Dean lowly, “I didn’t know you had a brother Dean, you’ve never mentioned—”  
  
“We’ve uh – recently reconnected.” Dean answered, making a face.  
  
“That’s lovely, boys.” Mrs Flynn smiled. She looked Sam up and down, running the same gaze along Dean. “Family is so important.”

“Ain’t it just.” said Dean, his smile slipping some.

Sam tried not to feel a bitter twist in his gut at that.  
  
“You send that gardner of yours over to me now Dean.” She winked, then whispered conspiratorially in Sam’s direction. “Cassie dear has just got the greenest thumb.”

“I married into talent,” said Dean with a smile. Gentle and soft, it changed his face, making it hard for Sam to look at him. Mrs Flynn laughed him off, touching his arm.

“I’ll let Cas know. Thanks Mrs Flynn.” said Dean.

Sam’s chest constricted, a  vice closing around his lungs. Dean was married. Dean— _Dean’s_ _married_. There was so much he wanted to ask, wanted to know about that about— god Dean’s married, to some Cassie— Cassandra?

“Any time dear.” Mrs Flynn was saying, she looked between the two of them, smiling brightly as she headed back the way she came. “You boys behave now!”

Dean smiled after her, waved. When she was far enough down the hill he turned back to the path ahead and walked, completely silent.

Sam cleared his throat. “You’re married.”

Dean didn’t even turn around. “Yep. Five years now.”  
  
Sam saw Dean falter, saw the hike up of his shoulder, a tense line forming right down his spine, hard like a sudden shell had appeared all over him. A tell if there ever was one. Sam felt the stony expression fall over his own face, and had to remind himself that, hell, this wasn’t some asshole passing him on the street.

This was Dean.

“So…” Sam began, aiming for levity. His steps were longer than Dean’s thankfully, so he was able to catch up to his brother’s side with ease. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

Something about that tugged Dean’s lips upward into a smile.

A smile – no the _same_ smile. Damn, Sam couldn’t remember the last time he saw it, but he could remember a thousand times before that – a thousand times growing up where Dean smiled like that, where he laughed.

“Man.” said Dean.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You mean who’s the lucky _man_.”

Sam managed to play off the strangled noise breaking past the back of his throat as a laugh. Dean shot him a look, half amused, half concerned.

“Is that why you left home?” asked Sam, he wasn’t quite sure how to feel when Dean only laughed in answer, shoulders shaking though still strained.

“Sam, you could fill a whole damn book with the reasons I left home,” Dean explained, or rather did not. “That wasn’t one of them – uhh, not really.”

He looked at Sam from the corner on his eye. Sam wasn’t quite sure what his own expression was like, but he’d guess at a mix of crushed puppy and dewy-eyed kid from the way Dean’s face crumpled when he looked at him. They way he smearing a hand down over his face in an effort to look away.

“Look, man, I didn’t leave because, because of you, all right? Things just… I had to get out, couldn’t stop the itch to run – y’know? Planned to only be gone for a bit but, a bit turned into a while and – I thought it was best to just clear my head but then –” he shrugged, his lips kicked up at the corners, booted feet crunched into the now pebbled floor. They’d turned into a gravel driveway – Dean’s driveway it seemed. “I met Cas.”

Sam nodded, an attempt made to pretend that he understood – even though he didn’t.

“M’not dragging that all up now Sammy,” Dean went on, digging his hands into his pockets, fishing out his keys with a determined frown. “Some things are better left in the past.”  

**_  
_**

**_Butt-Fuck-No-Where?, Vermont, 2005_ **

_**** _

Dean’s day had officially sucked.  
  
No that wasn’t right, his whole _week_ had sucked.

The truck driver gave him a look of concern as he dropped Dean off at – at some coffee shop slash bar in a small mountain town. Stowe, Dean learned, jumping down from the truck cabin. He waved at the driver with his occupied hand – his other hand holding the frozen eighty-cent grocery store bag of peas to his black eye. The peas were now mushy and his eye felt a little better, but honestly, not a lot.

He pushed into the coffee shop as the truck continued up the mountain road –   the cargo bed filled with logs that swayed dangerously as it followed the curved path.

Dean could have gone with him, if he had more money – had more worth. A twenty-six-year old dropout with a face beat up like an old rug and barely fifty bucks to his name. Yeah. Real stunner.

It was  cold enough that Dean was thankful that he’d had the foresight to grab his old man’s jacket before flipping him off and turning tail. Running, running to the other side of the god-damned country pretty much.

Shit.

His whole chest felt as though it was going to explode, but Dean pushed himself into the shop anyway. Two or three bucks for a coffee, he did the mental math. The promised warmth and kick in the pants that caffeine was going to provide won out. It wasn’t going to be worth all the eventual moaning and bone numbing exhaustion to come not to splurge on the drink. Already the couple of painkillers Dean had popped (courtesy of the friendly truck driver) were taking an effect. It was better to just get up and get coffee and get going – take his mind off of life while basking in the brief warmth.

“Excuse me, sir?”

There was a kid behind the counter. Dean glanced down to their name tag but didn’t take it in. They were talking to him – obviously, there was no one else by the counter. But his pimpled-prepubescent face was crinkled in concern. Dean rubbed a hand over his mouth, his eyes, winced, then croaked; “coffee, black, no sugar.”

A quick moment of pause, a look, then the kid rang up the order.

He didn’t speak as he waited, hands fisted into his pockets, a now crushed and soggy icecream staining the inside of his pocket. He chucked it in the trash when he left the shop, clutching the steaming coffee in both hands close to his chest.

He considered bumming a smoke off of some guy waiting for the signal to change out by the crosswalk, but cast his eyes down and away when the guy glanced by him. Dean walked away, up one the small street, another. He could have just stayed in the shop in the warmth but he’d caught the cashier kid watching him and whispering to a guy out the back, looking at Dean as though he was some sort of abused wife – huh, yeah, not happening.

Dean’s throat spasmed. He stumbled and a frightening, foreign sound escaped his lips.

His eyes stung.

And his cheeks were wet.

Fuck.

He mopped at his face with his jacket sleeve, leather rough over his sore features. He’d forgotten what his desire for coffee would mean; someone seeing him like this. Beaten up, un-showered.

Dean spent most rest of the afternoon meandering around, surrounding himself with the white noise of small town life, the traffic running through the single main road, the bustle of people coming and going all around him – most of them knowing each other by name.

The forest ran parallel to the road, the trees so close together their branches seemed intertwined – like hands joined by the fingers. Dean broke through the twining, no real direction in mind – but the cool air was nice suddenly, refreshing – numbing the pain of the side of his face in turn with making his fingers sting.

It was quiet in the woods, save for the chirps of a few birds and the sound of leaves rubbing against one another with the wind. When he reached the end of the beaten path and stepped into the dark tree line, he left out a soft sound. The trees towered over him in shades of brown, red, gold, yellow – the burnt fall foliage lulling Dean as he walked and walked, deeper, till the sounds of traffic passing on the single road and the town were gone.

In here, Dean could almost pretend nothing else existed.

His eyes fell closed when he took a moment to relax against a fallen tree. He listened to the sounds of the forest, echoing louder now that he couldn’t see.

Dean’s eyes popped open and everything was dark. Fuck – he was blind he was blind his eye had swollen shut and he was—  
  
Nighttime. Shit, he had fallen _asleep_ , passed out for what seemed to have been a good four, five hours.

The forest was dark, near pitch black. Dean took a lighter from his jacket pocket and could instantly see the hundreds of tiny flying bugs drawn to its flame when he lit it. As much as Dean wanted to just run out of the damn woods back to the town, he couldn’t see enough, barely even the ground right in front of him. Running through the woods at night was not the smartest move. Walking probably wasn’t either – who knew where he’d end up by sunlight.

He made his way slowly back the way he (thought) he’d come. Every snap and crunch from beneath his feet was doing an awesome job at freaking him the fuck out.

His lighter was enough Dean figured, to get him back to the main trail.

Dean didn’t realise just how lost he really was until after an hour or so when the flame of his lighter was beginning to flicker and there were no street lights in sight. The forest was denser now, alive with sound and movement: it spoke and whispered and ached around him. When his light finally went out, Dean tripped over something – pitching forward he nearly fell to the ground.

Dean swore and shot his hand out against a nearby tree so he didn’t fall onto his face. He continued on with his hand out in front of himself, feeling his way with stuttering steps and half whispered swears. He liked to think he had good instincts, but of course if that were true he wouldn’t be here; he’d be in Lawrence or out on the road with his brother, the thought made Dean’s throat burn.

There was a soft crunching sound. Dean couldn’t tell if it was close or far away. He thought a lack of one sense was supposed to enhance the others. What a bunch of bullshit.

Dean turned his eyes to scan the thick tree line. He heard the shuffle-crunch of a moving body – animal? Likely, but judging by the sound of its moaning howl it was definitely not animal. Another cry from the forest had Dean grabbing for a weapon that wasn’t there – it was shuffling closer now, a chirruped clicking. Dean knew that sound knew it well.

Wendigo.

Dean had nothing with him to carve or draw a circle of Anasazi symbols, and anyway, judging by the sound of the Wendigo it was already too nearby. He was helpless, with nothing to defend himself  against a fucking Wendigo.  
  
Dean caught movement to his left, scrambled for the lighter in his pocket and flicked the wick. He bit back a curse when the monster  finally appeared; a dark, lanky figure crawling out of the shadows, seeming to shift out from between twisted tree limbs, out of the night’s dark holes and crevices. Eyes glowing, long tongue slicked between longer yellow fangs, it screeched – looked at him and blinked, eyes fixed on the lighter, and screeched again.

That was quite enough really, Dean sprinted, fighting his way through the forest. He leapt over fallen trees, his lighter blown out by his speed. The first attack happened so quickly. One moment Dean was jumping down an embankment away from the ugliest mother fucker he has seen in a while, the next he was being wrestled by the thing to the ground, claws swinging toward him at lightning speed.

Dean’s cheek smashed into the dirt and grazed over rocks and twigs. Wrestled to the forest floor, Dean flipped over and ground his knee up into the Wendigo’s bony chest – snapping ribs trying to stop the creature from chomping on his chin. Adrenaline, fear, Dean slammed his fist into the Wendigo’s face, with legs wrapped around its waist he drew the creature to him – thinking nothing of death for the monster he rolled, rolled. Clawed fingers gripped his side puncturing into his hip, Dean screamed out, kicked at the Wendigo, letting it go.

The Wendigo launched itself, pinning him to the ground. Dean gripped what he could – a rock, a branch, smacking each at the beast, hitting it over and over listening to the crunch of its skull and the splitting of its skin at every impact. He managed to get the body off of him with a sharp forceful kick, but just as Dean was climbing to his feet, he was knocked over again with a howling screech.

This time instead of being shoved to the dirt Dean fell into the open air, back first over the edge of an unseen cliff.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**_  
_**

**...... 2005**

 

At the base of the cliff, Dean lay crumpled and broken. He stared up into the canopy above, unseeing, could feel warm blood seeping from the open wounds in his head, arms and hip, mingling with the shallow stream that soaked his clothes and skin. His sight blurred, a gray film settled over his vision. At one point there was a wheezing howl, then, silence. Dean's eyes fell shut then flew open. He saw the sky again; night, watched the stars twinkle above him, glittering – falling.

Pain shot up through Dean’s shattered spine, making breathing difficult. He blinked against the light of the evening, it’s brightness growing on one side, warm.

There, to his right. A beam of light. The world went quiet, slowed down, stretched infinitely long – the light drew closer. There was a hot twist of fear low in Dean's gut, but he couldn’t make a sound, his lung punctured, filling with lymph and blood and fluid.

Mist moved in, obscuring the light.It lay over Dean like a blanket,humid and sticky. The ground beneath was spongy and soft with overgrown vegetation. From here, head turned to spit out bile and blood, Dean could see dewed grass sparking in the light coming closer – like daylight creeping over the horizon.

He was vaguely aware he’d fallen, felt the impact of his body hitting the ground, felt the blood continue to rush out of his crushed body.

The Wendigo had fallen with him.

A root – Dean thought it was, black holes in his vision, in his mind – stuck up out of the wendigo’s chest. While Dean had landed in the stream the creature had ended up on the bank, the boulders and rocks shattering it’s starved body into a thousand pieces of bone and skin and withered muscle. If Dean could have, he would’ve vomited – perhaps he already had done.

It took what was literally a dying man’s effort for Dean to turn his cheek to the wet soil, his face away. Dean’s eyes stung now, directed toward the glaring white light—

Calm. Peace. The light was warm, shifting. Eyes wet, Dean lowered his gaze, trying to blink out the spots. The pain was still there but it wasn’t crowding out his own thoughts now. Still, it was getting harder to breathe.

A stag shambled forth from the light. Glorious and white , it loomed above Dean, its fur pure like fresh fallen snow. Beneath a great jagged crown of spiraling antlers its eyes were black, watchful.

Its hoof falls fell light, graceful, like so many drops of rain on a still lake. It stopped before Dean’s body, its fur lowered to a soft glowing hue. Dean hiccupped and something spilled from his lips, warm. The stag bent low over Dean and nuzzled his matted hair. Its long tongue lapped at his muddy tears and the streaks of fresh blood upon his upturned face.

Dean could do nothing.

 _Human._ Spoke a deep sonorous voice, echoing in Dean’s head. The stag licked over Dean’s bloody lips, its tongue warm and efficient. It was speaking to him. Impossibly.

Dean wheezed. Fresh tears dripped over his cheeks.

 _Help you?_ Asked the stag in answer to something Dean hadn’t the ability to say. _Why?_

Dean gasped more hiccupping breaths. Something was pressing on his chest and he. Couldn’t. Breathe.

The stag sniffed him, its great muzzle wetting Dean’s cheek. _A life for a life, human,_ it said, _why should I restore yours with the death of hers?_ It swayed its great head in the direction of the Wendigo.

Dean whimpered. There was a weight behind his eyes. Tears – no, something was pressing _in_ , as though seeking entrance. Dean’s heart stuttered in his chest a few faint beats, his mind shifted without his accord, jumping from one thing to another to another.

 _Dean Winchester…_ the stag hummed after a long, silent time. The pressure in Dean’s skull faded. Easy calm. The stag huffed a warm breath, raised its head – black eyes pools in the low light – and stepped not over Dean but _through_ him, coming to the Wendigo’s equally crumpled side.

Dean turned his cheek into the wet slush and groaned, he could feel everything slipping, the world turned on a steep incline, impossible to fight against, impossible to climb.

 _Rest._ Whispered the stag to the dying monster. It pressed its muzzle to the Wendigo’s cheeks in much the same manner it had done Dean’s – as though licking away a monster’s tears. _Your suffering is over now child._

In the next moment, before Dean’s eyes, both the stag and the Wendigo burned.

 

**_  
_**

**Stowe, Vermont, 2015**

 

“It’s nice,” said Sam as Dean led him inside, depositing his shopping onto the kitchen table.  “Homey.”

He watched, shoulders hunched as Dean pottered about the kitchen for a bit – kicked his boots off, set them by the door and draped his jacket over a nearby chair.  
  
“Yeah well, you know,” Dean shrugged humbly, the faintest bit of colour tinted his cheeks. “Shoes off man, Cas gets pissy.”

That was the problem, Sam didn’t know. He did as he was asked, shucking his FBI loafers off in the corner by the door and padding across the tiled floor in his socks and suit. Dean was piling his hoard into various cupboards, shelves and the fridge, setting aside the few items that belonged elsewhere on the table.

The space was small, the whole house bigger than a cottage, but not by much. Sam could see a small living room branching off from the kitchen, a few other rooms and then a set of stairs leading up. The kitchen itself was surprisingly modern, shiny furnishings and deep red wood counters. Downright homey in the odd sort of way that the various knick-knacks scattered about, mismatched fridge magnets and a vase of aging flowers could conjure.

It didn’t feel like Dean at all – at least, not the Dean that Sam knew. Sam figured he’d need some time to start thinking of this as cute, as normal for his brother, some time to get over how weird this all was.

“You want coffee?” Dean asked, flicking on the machine.

Coffee? Sam glanced at the coffee machine it looked…expensive. “Uh- sure,” he said.

Dean set about making him coffee wordlessly. He moved about the kitchen with slow familiarity, Sam diverted his gaze down to the table.

Ten years. A husband, a house, a coffee maker.

Ten freaking years.

When Sam was seated and Dean was leaning against the bench with a steaming mug that read; BEAM ME UP, and held the _Star Trek_ insignia – he took a deep pull and opened his mouth;

“So… what is it?” he asked.

“Hmm?” Sam grunted around the lip of his own mug.

“What you’re hunting? Why you’re here,” Dean’s tone was tense, devoid of nicety. Business – he sounded a lot like John in the moment, Sam was almost taken aback, the tone so at odds with the surroundings, the pastel apron hanging up on the door stop. “You’re decked out in the suit and everything, whattaya impersonating, Sammy – a lawyer?”

So they weren’t going to talk about it then. Some things never changed. 

“FBI agent. Gets you into more scenes.”

“Shit Sam. The FBI?” Dean laughed around his mug yet Sam didn’t know how to take it. “That’s ballsy.”

“It’s the job.”

“Which is?”

Sam wasn’t sure what was swelling up behind his Adams apple. Why. But it stung, soured his coffee. Sam set his mug aside.

Dean held his own mug close to his chest, “Come on, you didn’t come up to Vermont to open up a charming little B&B didya?”

“Seems you already beat me to the punch with that.” Sam retorted, gesturing about. _You and your husband._ He found himself subtly looking about for pictures, pictures of them – Dean ‘n _Cas_ – none in the kitchen but that didn’t mean they didn’t exist.

“-Sam.”

Sam blinked, rewound his mind – cycling back in an effort to follow the conversation. “Rufus – friend of Bobby’s – thinks it might be ghosts, we’ve got people in the towns all over disappearing, heading out into the woods and not coming out. Mysterious circumstances, weather, black mist. Garth thinks it’s a headless horseman—”

Dean raised an eyebrow.

Sam waved a hand. “Garth’s a’nother hunter.”

The corner of Dean’s lip kicked up, “Bobby Singer, fuck – how is that ole beggar?”  
  
In a wheelchair, paralysed.  
  
Sam thought it best in the moment not to mention that.

“He’s good, cantankerous but you'know Bobby.” He wasn’t mentioning a lot of things. Sam swallowed more coffee, the warmth trickling his throat, sinking into his socked toes. He shifted the topic back to the case at hand. “Dean, whatever this thing is it’s moving, skipping from dingy little town to dingy little town.”

Dean made a face at that. Concern or distaste for having his town called ‘dingy’ Sam wasn’t sure. “And ours is next in the line up?”  
  
“Yeah.” said Sam, smoothing over the mug’s side. “I could – I could do with your help on this one. Ask around, figure out what’s going on – work our way from there.”  
  
It was too much, too fast, too soon, over the line—  
  
Dean’s face fell blank. He turned, eyes away from Sam, his tone holding some disappointment. “Scouting for fresh civilian blood? Not usually the way you hunters go.”  
  
Sam looked at him sadly. “You’re not a civilian, Dean.”  
  
“M’not a part of that life,” said Dean, shaking his head. “Not anymore.”

“What about your guy?” Sam’s tone was almost scathing. He refused to think of it as bitter.  “Does he know?”

Girlfriends of Dean’s past – only Cassie had gotten the hunter spiel and that had ended…well… it had ended. Cas must have been a different story, hidden completely from the truth. What a marriage. Sam could see it in every line of Dean’s new home, there wasn’t a hunter’s taint anywhere within this house. Not even a carefully laid demon trap.  
  
“Yeah, Sam. Cas knows.”  
  
Sam picked his mug back up, the empty thing, and held it in both his hands. “Even if something in the woods is killing people, even when it’s the people of your town in danger—”

“They’re not in danger.” Dean countered. Sam bit back a bitter snort, a sudden swell of rage did well to cover it up.

“Dean – something is taking people, I’d bet anything that it’s out there right now in those woods.”

Dean shook his head. “I know what’s in those woods Sam and it ain’t – it ain’t hurting no-one.”  
  
Sam swallowed, softened his tone. He’d get nothing but a fight if he kept pressing as he was. “Dean. The pattern’s legit. I’m only just ahead of this thing’s path. People could be in real danger – people _you_ care about.”  
  
“You won’t let this go will you?” asked Dean.

 _Let people go, let lives go?_ Sam shook his head.

“And you’re sure there’s something out there?” Dean sounded sceptical, overly so. Sam wondered where the faith came from – the disbelief in his word.

“Hit every town heading north on my way up.” Sam admitted, fingers clenching and unclenching around the cup’s rim. Every forest was a dead zone, like a bomb had hit. Anything that had gone in or out of the woods suffered after affecting burns, yet each witness – only a few survivors – claimed that they had been called into the forest. Called by something inhuman.

“Don’t know what it is, but it’s something bad.”

Dean nodded accepting the vague description far better than Sam envisioned. He kicked off from his lean, a pinpoint front creasing between his eyebrows. He set his cup aside, ran a hand up into his hair. He headed for the door face downturned, and toed on his boots with no hands.

“Just let me – let me make a call. Tell Cas I’m gonna be home late.” Dean said. He walked swiftly out the front door, closing it behind him.

Sam sat in the silence a moment, overwhelmed. Awkward.

Through the kitchen window he could see Dean kneeling in the front garden. His back was to Sam and the house, one palm pressed to the earth, his lips moving.

Mildly confused, Sam rose, turned around and sought to take his own empty coffee cup and Dean’s to the sink. He grabbed his, turned to grab Dean’s and was stopped in his tracks.

There, right on the kitchen bench, was his brother’s cell phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings/Tags:** Main Character Death, Mild blood/gore, Angst


	3. Chapter 3

**_  
_**

**_Stowe, Vermont, 2015_ **

 

  
“So how long have you been hunting alone?” asked Dean.  
  
The sun was far from setting, a few more hours or so, but with the thick forest of trees you wouldn’t really know it. There was enough afternoon sun that it was not pitch-black, and Sam could actually see a little past the tree line to the mountain ranges around them.  
  
They had entered the forest by a well-used animal trail heading up from the main road and further into the mountains. Yet the two Winchesters had stepped off that path long ago, going through the – really quite creepy – grove. The tree trunks here were warped, branches bent like grabbing hands that somehow made them look _alive_. Dean seemed perfectly at peace with their surroundings, yet his eyes were still trained, narrowed for the slightest movement.

There was some hunter still in him after all.   
  
“Since a little after you left,” Sam said, voice low. He shifted his grip on his pistol, scanned the tree line ahead. “I was mad at Dad for well, uh—” he broke off throat tight.

Dean laughed and nodded. “Dad, yeah jeez, what a bastard.” 

Sam tripped on a fallen branch but stumbled and caught himself, he heard his heart in his ears, ringing, beating – god why was this so hard? 

“How’s he doing Sammy? You know, I mean I haven’t kept tabs or nothing—”

Sam swallowed and took a moment to collect himself. He couldn’t look Dean in the eye – but to tell his brother that John was dead, it was just a little more difficult than Sam expected it to be.

He had to say something.

“Dean, umm, there’s—”

“You even know what we’re looking for Sammy?” Dean cut in. He knocked his head in one direction, motioning off deeper into the forest. “This is a big forest man, trust me, and I don’t have any idea what we’re looking for here.”

“Just anything supernatural.” Sam explained. He took a deep breath through his nose and hated himself for the relief he suddenly felt. “The other forests hit had this black, mist – this smog—”

“Like poison?” Dean asked, his brow crinkled into a concerned frown.

Sam nodded. “It was left like a residue after every attack, at every scene.The couple of people who were infected who we managed to get back, it _seeped_ out of them.”

Dean’s lips parted in a silent swear. “Shit man, you think that shit is coming here?”

“I can take the east,” said Sam his mind still on his father, on Dean. No. He shook his head, squeezed his eyes shut and focused in on the task at hand, the hunt – the monster, gotta save the town. He cocked his gun eastward. “You west, take an hour see what we can find – any traces, anything _off_ , meet back at the trail after, hit the books.”

“You brought books?” Dean asked, “what’m I talking about, course you did. Alright,” he tucked his gun into his waistband – which Sam thought an unwise decision. “Be careful Sammy, serious. Woods are a dangerous place alright, with or without goo monsters.”

Was it horrible for Sam to think he breathed a little easier parted from his brother?

Yes. Yes it was.

He still felt that rush of apprehension; heading deeper into the forest, the sunlight hardly breaking through now. He took a turn for the right and headed down a small rocky gully. It could be dangerous heading this deep in, climbing down unless he was steady. Sam reasoned that he would be fine, the area was quite large, surprisingly dry. Leaves crunched beneath Sam’s shoes when he landed, shifted upright then checked the safety on his pistol.

He heard the scuffing before he saw it. He fell to the ground and dropped into a crouch. He held his pistol loose but controlled, checking where he put his feet down because he was not going to die from a freaking bear by stepping on a twig or something. He hit the rock face behind him and took position behind a bush he’d cased a split second before-hand. Before he could even think of pulling out to shoot, he needed to see what he was dealing with. 

There’d been a time once – when he was eight or nine, Dean thirteen – when their dad had taken them both out on a hunting trip – a real hunting trip. Sam could remember the fear he’d felt when Dad ordered them to lay low and Dean had grabbed him, dragging him and the shotgun he’d unwisely been given to the forest floor. Those few minutes of John up the shot, heavy breathing, the silence and then fire – it wasn’t long after that particular hunt Sam had been taken on his first real _hunt –_ then of course everything changed.

It wasn’t a deer standing before him now.

Holding his stance and gun, Sam moved one of the branches in his way, his heart nearly fell through his stomach. There was a bear right there in front of him – a white bear. Sam’s first thought was polar bear because, well, a _white_ bear – huge standing just a few meters away. Huge and shaggy and _aware_ .

It smelt him, Sam froze. The great white bear lifted its head, turned in Sam’s direction – as though surprised to see him there. It growled, Sam adjusted his footing, raised his gun – he couldn’t take it down with a flimsy pistol alone but maybe he could fire a few shots to—  
  
_HUNTER!_

A deep voice bellowed. Sam almost dropped his gun.

The bear jumped forward, a few charging steps that had Sam’s heart ricocheting in his chest as he jolted back against the rock face.

A desperate roar deeper than thunder chilled Sam to his bones. _WHY ARE YOU HERE?_

The bear charged with bone breaking swiftness, Sam turned, forgetting his pistol in a moment of blind panic and attempted to rescale the rock face _._ He scrambled faster than he ever had before, on hands and knees. The bear’s steps pounded on the muddy forest floor while Sam’s hands slipped over smooth stones.

 _Sniak!_ Ferocious teeth snapped shut beside Sam’s foot. Again. _Snap!_ Jaws clamped onto his leather boot and dragged him down.

Sam was thrown to the ground, his chest smacking against rock and stone. Weight pressed him down into the earth, a paw on his back forcing the air from him till the edges of his vision began to blur. Hot steaming breath on his cheek – Sam’s eyes snapped open, stunned at the sudden shock of seeing a bear’s face right in front of him, it’s wet nose only inches from his own—

A body – no _Dean_ dropped down from above, yelling, hands outstretched. “CAS!”  
  
Cas?

The bear straightened, leaning off of Sam who rolled away gasping, able to breathe again, if shakily. The bear stood on hind legs at least twice as tall as Sam. Sam desperately tried to scramble back, wobbling on his feet, his ribs and arms aching. The bear ignored him, eyes and ears on Dean – it took a step toward him—

Sam reacted on instinct.   The gun. He made contact with it, hauled himself up a few inches aimed a shot at the bear and—

“NO, SAMMY STOP!” Dean yelled, and Sam only caught the fast movement of his brother lunging at him out of the corner of his eye. Dean slammed against him, knocking him back. The pistol dropped from Sam’s grip, flung across the forest floor to the feet of the now startled bear.

Sam couldn’t react, his head slammed against the rock floor – sending him spiralling. He was engulfed by mind-shallowing numbness – his thoughts scattered. Two shadowed images spread out before his eyes, but reason escaped Sam’s mind, consciousness fell away as he stared up to the darkening sky.

 

**_____**

 

The first thing Sam saw upon awaking was a small flourishing terrarium. A tiny ecosystem all within itself, of moss and succulents and earth, right there on the night stand. The whole room smelt grassy, like an earthy meadow. Even when Sam pressed his face into the pillow he smelt flowers.

This wasn’t his hotel room, not the one Sam had checked into yesterday at least. Sunshine poured in through large open windows, Sam’s eyes slid to the warmly coloured wallpaper. He was covered in warm pale blue bed sheets, a paler blue than the few bruises that mottled his exposed skin.

Sam blinked and heaved himself up on one elbow, his body heavy and ribs aching.

The episodic spots of his memory soon filled up, their dots connecting like a child’s coloring picture. There were some things he was able to remember clearly.

The decision to go out with Dean and scope out the forest. Splitting up, climbing down. Branches like hands grasping, old and crumpled rotten leaves, the earth smelling of mud and rain. Losing the path, the white bear – incandescent like starlight as though it was glowing.

There was no sign in the small bedroom of anything that had happened the day before.

There was, however, Dean standing there by the door in nothing but his boxers and a grey bathrobe, yawning and cradling a cup of coffee close to his chest.

“Morning Sammy,” he said, lips quirked.

“Dean?” Sam said rising more fully. He made a move to get out of the bed, swing his legs over the side, but his ribs and head throbbed. “Fuuuhh-” Sam sank back, sucked in a breath, his hand darting to the back of his head, tender and swelled up in an egg – that’s right he’d hit it when he fell. When Dean pushed him.

“Yeah. Sorry man that’s – that’s gonna hurt for a bit. I know, I'll have a look at it after breakfast” said Dean. He made no attempt to enter the room. He rapped at the wood of the doorway with nervous knuckles, took a step back and pulled his shoulders up to his ears in almost an apologetic manner. “Have a shower; you’ll feel a lot better.”

He left before Sam even got out of bed.

Sam rose cautiously, careful of his ribs. He was just in his boxers and socks (which okay disconcerting) but it wasn’t the first time after a hunt he’d been taken back to a motel or the impala and striped down from blood stained, wet, muddy clothes while unconscious.

As it was Sam’s clothes were nowhere to be seen, but there was a well-worn, faded flannel shirt and sweatpants resting on the armchair in the corner of the room in a neat pile. When he put them on they held the same clean flowery scent as the clothes he’s worn growing up. The clothes Dean was always the one to wash.

Sam ached with every step to the bathroom, as though he could feel the bruises blossoming particularly on his chest.  He was lucky he hadn’t hit his head any harder – or that he wasn’t eaten.

Sam took care so as not to move anything while he showered, much in the manner he would treat a crime scene.

When he finished, he toweled off and slipped on the clothes provided. Downstairs in the kitchen Dean was already dressed, in the midst of pouring himself another coffee, and Sam his first.

“Pretty much charcoal – just how you like it.” Dean stuck out the mug of black coffee, and Sam took it, still unsure of what the hell was going on. 

“You – there was a bear…”

Dean’s eyes flashed. “Sammy—”

“Where’s Cas, Dean?” Sam demanded a little groggily, he sat down at the table and tried to swallow his scolding drink. “What – what is _Cas_?”

There was scratching at the door.

Dean’s head snapped up, spreading into a soft smile – genuine and full of teeth – too full for this time in the morning.It fled as soon as Dean noticed Sam’s gaze on him.

He turned a little back against the kitchen bench, his own coffee mug set aside. “You gotta calm down man – I’ll, I’ll tell you everything al’right, just please—”  
  
There was a whine, high-pitched and animal, followed by more scratching.

“Cas—” Dean yelled to the door without taking his eyes off of Sam. “You are not entering this house unless you’re walking on two legs, got two arms, and are gonna sit down and have breakfast with us like a goddamned _human_ _being_.”

The whining stopped. There was a sound, a scuffling, scraping.

The door knob turned.

In walked a man of similar height – to Dean that was, not Sam – he was about a head or so smaller than Sam. His skin was tanned, and he had a scruffy face and blue eyes highlighted by dark untidy hair that was similar to the dark thatch of hair further south—

He was naked.

Sam jerked his eyes away, the move making his brain swim in his skull.

“Jesus Christ, Castiel.” Dean gave a world-weary shake of his head – as though such a thing happened often. Sam hid his face in his hands, forget the coffee he could use a damn _drink_ right about now.

Uncaring for his nudity or audience the man – _Castiel_ – came and sat at the table opposite, his genitals sinking out of sight below the tabletop much to Sam’s _desperate_ relief.

“Uh – Cas, Sammy. Sammy, this’is Cas,” Dean looked a little shell shocked, attention shifting back and forth between the two men at the table – both important to his life in very different ways. Sam watched as resolve settled in his brother then, driving him out of the kitchen with a backwards cry of: “hold on a sec, man, let me get you a robe or something, _Jesus_ —”

Dean left, and with his exit a thick, cloying silence settled over the sunny kitchen. Blue eyes are fixed on Sam in a way that was decidedly inhuman – he didn’t  blink, barely seemed to breathe – just watched Sam with a sharply defined face, like a hawk zeroing in, picking a target.

Sam stared across at the creature, tight knuckling his mug, breath held. And the creature – his brother’s _husband_ stared back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tags/Warnings:** Sleepy Dean in a bathrobe and Boxers, I am not sorry.
> 
>  


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely support and comments! This one's for you guys <3

**_  
_**

**Still (probably) Butt-fuck-no-where, Vermont, 2005**

 

 

Dean didn’t stay dead.

It was… surprising, really fucking surprising and when Dean’s chest stopped throbbing as though he had two hearts he guessed he’d be able to figure out how the hell _that_ happened.

It took a lot of effort for Dean to open his eyes, and more effort still to realise it was a light beige wall that he was looking at. There was a window too, which Dean stared at for a full minute without really registering. It was wet outside, raining – the air smelled nice, even inside.

“Good, you’re awake.” An older woman came into view, dark hair waved about sharp pale features. Dean groaned and went to sit up on his elbow.

A hand on his chest eased him back down. “Hey now handsome, easy,” the woman smiled oddly sultry in the moment. “Gotta take it easy now.”

Dean lay beneath her touch and tried to take in his surroundings. He was in a bed, that much was sure, probably a bedroom.It looked nice – with curtains, pictures on the walls. Years of hunting helped Dean to see the protection sigils marked in paint on the walls, carved into the door frame by hand. Nothing too witchy but still – whoever had made them sure knew what they were doing.

“The name’s Pamela,” said Pamela. Her hands shifted over him business-like, checking his eyes, mouth, ears and head. She pursed her pink lips, expression sinking into a frown when she passed her thumb over Dean’s forehead – resting the pad of it in between his eyebrows. She rubbed gently.

“Hang on a moment,” she said, getting up and disappearing through the door.

She returned to find Dean sitting up in the bed, his legs kicked over the side, breathing heavily though his nose – through the pain. His whole body _ached_.

“You don’t listen to advice much, huh kid?” Pamela said, sitting down beside him. She set a glass of water on the bedside, which Dean reached for, pulled to his lips and drank.

“You’re not a nurse.” He gasped around a swallow, sucking down more water still.

“True.” She pointed to herself with a coy smile. “But doesn’t take a nurse to know that you should ease it up when resurrected.”

Dean choked, shooting spits of water out with a cough.

“Whoa – slow your roll handsome.” She laughed, patting him across the shoulders.

“I-uh, I—”

“Died, yeah.It’s a bit of a knock isn’t it, just take a moment,” she took the empty glass from Dean’s hands, setting it aside before he dropped it. “What’s your name?”

“Dean.” He managed, feeling  as though his voice was very small. “Dean Winchester.”

“Ah, should’ve figured.” She smirked then held out her hand. “Pamela Barnes.”

Surprise managed to trickle through, Dean didn’t take her hand. "You've heard of me?"

Pamela smiled, not unkindly. "Anyone with an ounce of connection to the spirit world has heard of you Winchesters. Or rather your father – Men of Letters right, on his father’s side?" 

"I’m not one of them," Dean supplied lamely. He burned a little at the admission, he wasn’t a Man of Letters not like his dad or grandpa or even Sammy. He was never good with the books and stuff – the research. The room suddenly felt too warm. “Oh.”

Dean hadn’t even been aware that he was teetering to the side until Pamela’s arm wrapped around his shoulder, nudging him up. “Here kid, just take a breather. There you go—” she passed him a second mug, one Dean hadn’t seen until now.

He pulled out of Pamela’s hold, glared at the mug as though it had personally offended him.

“It’s tea.” She told him.

Tea.

Dean took the proffered mug, dipped his finger in it and had a lick, he didn’t begin to choke or splutter and honestly if she was going to poison him she could have just done it with the water.

After a couple of mouthfuls his head actually started to feel a bit better. Things were starting to come back—

“I died.” said Dean, setting his mug aside.

“Yep.”

“And I was brought back— how exactly?”

“A pagan deity, a spirit, a guardian – take your pick. He protects the forest around here.” Pamela said it so matter-of-factly – like how one would discuss the weather, or just another ordinary day at work. So _normal_ was her tone that at first Dean didn’t really click on.“Regardless,” Pamela continued, “Castiel's the one who brought you back.”

“ _Cas-ti-el_?”

White, a soft warm glow, wetness across Dean’s cheek, his lips.

The thing had _talked –_ at least Dean had heard a _voice._ There was a bright light and he could remember the pain but then…

But then he’d woken up here.

Pamela’s voice was soft when she spoke, calm – an undertone of seriousness there that made Dean sit up and pay attention, made his hairs stand on end. “He shared his life with you, resurrected you from death. That's uncharacteristic of him.” She looked Dean over, seeming to read the truth of Dean’s thoughts in the hard line of his jaw. “No, you can’t hunt him—”

“I-”

“A life for a life Dean Winchester, he saved yours. It’d be rude, not to mention stupid, to take something like that lightly.”  Pamela said and, incredibly, patted Dean’s cheek.

Rooted to his spot on the bed, Dean waited for a retort to hit him, for his father’s voice to argue back in his head but oddly enough, neither happened. 

Pamela smiled. “You don’t have to hunt everything, Dean.”

“It Castiel – it asked me when I was—” Dean swallowed, tried to make sense of his own thoughts.  “It was me or a Wendigo – there was a Wendigo—”

“Castiel chose between you? Hmmm.” Pamela hummed, she eased herself up off the bed, low riding jeans exposing elegant inked script across her lower back, but it disappeared just as quickly. Dean wasn’t in the right frame of mind to ogle nor inquire. “A shot at a second life, I know a tonne who would kill for that opportunity. It’s daunting isn’t it? Being given that opportunity, a clean slate. Maybe it’ll help you, Dean, to understand why you matter.”

“But I don’t,” Dean responded to the floor.

When Pamela didn’t say anything, he glanced up.

She was staring at him, her expression something he couldn’t quite describe.

Dean scowled, but he looked away from the woman’s face. She’d said she was a psychic – Dean had only ever met one, Missouri lady could strip back his soul just by meeting his eye – he wasn’t about to toss all that shit on Pamela.

He eased back further on the bed, pressed his elbows down on his knees and cradled his face in the palm of his hands, breathing slowly. After a while he could sense himself calming down, slowly, but surely. They didn’t talk for a long time, Pamela just freaking standing there by Dean as though he was going to explode – maybe he was. But the sound of her breathing steady was almost a familiar comfort for Dean.

He hated being alone with his own head like this.

“Castiel made his choice.” Dean lifted his head at Pamela’s words, met the light-eyed woman’s gaze for a moment before glancing closer to somewhere under her ear. They watched each other for long, endless moments. Pamela’s eyes took in Dean like she was reading his entire story in his posture, in the set of his shoulders, and in the fall of his breath.

"Here,” she said, breaking the moment enough for Dean to startle. She crossed the room, picked up a pile of unfamiliar but large enough clothes Dean had never seen before, and tossed them to him. They landed on the end of the bed, a thick pair of woollen socks rolled off onto the floor. “Shower’s down the hall. Left a towel for you there. Get up, get dressed. Call me if you need a hand.”

The last she offered with a wink and a smirk. Not waiting for any sort of reply, she slipped further into the house and out of sight.

It took Dean some time to gather himself, the clothes (probably a boyfriend’s, or a friend’s; a grey long-sleeved shirt and holey jeans) and make it down the hall. He moved slowly, though after most of the tea his joints and bones had loosened up a fair bit – the shower only increased that effect.

Dean undressed slowly though not willing to risk it – but stopped when he caught sight of himself in the mirror.

Rather he caught sight of a version of himself that had been photo-shopped, every scar every wound every old blemish on his skin- healed. Dean checked himself over just in case, looking in every one of his own nooks and crannies to find the familiar raised skin (one burnt) the marks of old stitches healed over, the time he’d split open his knee.All healed.

It was odd. Dean couldn’t ever remember a time when he  _wasn't_  scarred – littered with the marks of a hunting life, the kind of scars Sammy never seemed to get, focusing on the Men of Letters legacy their Dad always ignored. Yet at the same time Dean’s skin itched with a sudden awareness of its newfound infancy. The skin around Dean’s eye was no longer blackened, his ribs – couldn’t feel them, no sharp pain no intense restriction. Dean was clean – new – and it was a peculiar feeling. Dean wasn’t quite sure whether or not he'd call it good, but then again, who was he to say anything these days?

 _A shot at a second life –_ Pamela had said. Dean stepped into the shower, tearing his eyes away from his own visage to sink beneath the running water.

By the time he got out of the shower the rest of the tea Pamela had made for him had gone cold. Dean’s chest hurt with a tension he couldn't shake, a wariness – to his situation, to what had happened – Pamela herself, a perfect stranger. His new makeover helped somewhat to settle the whole thing into something resembling (at least vaguely) like reality but still…

“I died.” He said meeting Pamela in the kitchen – it hadn’t taken him too much effort to find it, the house was small – all the houses up this way seemed pretty small. Pamela looked at home in her space, normal.

Pamela said nothing, leant back against the fridge watched Dean with an enticing smirk and crossed arms. Dean sat down at the kitchen table, clomped his boots – actually _his_ boots, god only knew that the rest of his clothes hadn’t been salvageable – on the floor and undid the laces, desperate for something to focus his attention on

“I was brought back – it, Castiel.” Dean tugged at his laces hard, hated the knot he was doing, ripped it apart and started at it again. “Why?”

Pamela just shook her head. “Sorry. Like I said, don’t know. Not usually a part of his wheelhouse. You were in his forest so maybe, that's it. Castiel just called for me to give you shelter, not exactly the most talkative of spirits y'know—”

So Castiel – a spirit, _something other._ Something other that could be hunted – that could hurt and kill and maim people (and apparently bring people back from death). Something that could be summoned.

Dean growled, his frustration getting the better of him. He tore at his loose laces, stomped his foot into his boot hard and tried again. God that tea worked wonders, he only wished it worked a little better on what was in his head.

“But there has to be – I mean monsters don’t just _do_ _that_.” He snapped, glancing up.

“No,” Pamela said again, low and quiet. “I suppose they don’t.”

“I wanna talk to him.”

“Okay.”

Dean paused, he looked up again – Pamela was getting orange juice out of the fridge. He glared at the psychic’s back (only kinda checked out her ass) and finally just pulled his laces tight and shoved them in beside his feet, his fingers still shaking when he shoved both hands back into his pockets. “Now – I want to.”

Pamela poured herself a glass one then Dean. The damn woman was trying to drown him, filling him up on all these liquids. “You really should rest more-”

“I’m fine.”

Pamela kept busy, moving in and out of the kitchen—she set one orange juice in front of Dean, and one on the table opposite for herself.

Dean's hand tightened around his glass as Pamela sat down, chair dragging over the tiled floor. Tense, he straightened and looked up at her.

" _Fine_?" Pamela said, and that was enough to send Dean's heart stuttering. “Yeah, you look it.”

Half of her was flirting, half of her was scathing— Dean was sure of it. He just wasn’t sure what percentage of it there was; forty, fifty, a sixty-thirty split? Pamela was allusive.

Dean turned his eyes to the far wall. "So that's it, then?" he asked.

Again, Pamela smiled. “You can go to him — ask your questions yourself, fuck knows I’m not privy to the mind of an ancient spirit.”

Dean pushed out of his chair, headed to the door.

“So, no thanks for taking you in hotshot?”

Dean stuttered. “Um— thanks.”

He heard Pamela shift her chair back, heard her cross the room. She leant against the kitchen bench, sipped her orange juice and gazed out the window, the shadows around her eyes deepening.

“Beware little hunter,” she said jovially — as though the whole situation amused her. “Castiel gave you new life, he can just as easily take it away.”

A sobering thought. Dean repressed the urge to shudder.

“Okay," he said, swallowing against the sudden dryness in his throat. "I’ll keep that in mind."

Pamela croaked out a laugh and sipped from her glass. Her eyes shifted from Dean over to window about the sink. Bright sunlight cut through the shade of the curtains, sharpening the high rise of her cheekbones.

“Then again,” she added in a lilting tone, eyes bright on the outside. “He seems pretty keen to talk to you too.”

Dean stood there in silence for a moment, Pamela turned her head in his direction and raised an eyebrow. Dean cut across the room to her side, followed her eye line-

There, in the front garden, stood a marvellous white stag.

“Oh-kay,” said Dean, staring. “Creepy.”

Pamela snorted then gave him a very firm, _very gropey_ pat on the butt. “Go get ‘em tiger.” She said eyes on Castiel’s retreating figure, as the stag disappeared into the darkening treeline.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**_  
_**

**_Apparently Stowe, Vermont, 2005_ **

 

By the time Dean made it to the edge of Pamela’s garden, Castiel had sunk back into the forest. The glowing stag stood just beneath the shade of the trees, his front hooves planted firmly, head raised and turned towards Dean. He was silver-white all over except for the dark brown smudge of his nose. His antlers were broad, a spiralling thicket so tall Dean imagined on a lesser creature they would weigh its head down to the ground. Castiel, however, stood bold. The light of his pale blue eyes cast a calmness over Dean. He stared at the stag, mesmerised, thinking him beautiful.

“Castiel, right?” He asked, approaching.

He stopped at the edge of the woods, not breaking the line between them until Castiel took a step forward, head still cocked to the side as though curious. Dean looked both ways across the treeline, careful of the fact that (obviously) there was some magic, some hoodoo at work here. With Castiel and his glowy-ness and bringing people back from the dead. He was dangerous. And though Dean’s unexplainable instinct told him at worst Castiel was probably something chaotically neutral- like a trickster- he stepped into the shade of the trees anyway, approaching Castiel with more surety than he really felt.

“Came to see if I was alive?”

Castiel blinked serenely.

Dean huffed. “Not much of a talker, eh? Figures.”

Castiel opened it’s mouth, showing off a pink tongue. “Waaaaugh,” it bellowed, throaty and deep.

Dean snorted, pushed down the inappropriate humour of the moment -residue hysteria, maybe from freaking dying, maybe from not dying- Dean wasn’t willing to dig in and scrutinise himself enough to figure out which.

Castiel peered down at him, his bizarrely blue eyes narrowed as though in…judgement? Dean didn’t much care for that. When Castiel moved Dean fell back a step, he turned, trotted on the spot a moment, and tossed Dean a look over his shoulder, as though beckoning him to follow.

The speed with which Castiel moved next caught Dean off guard. He dashed away, darting between the trees like lightning.

“What the—you uh—” Dean blinked, eyes catching the blur of white as he tried to follow. “Hey. Hold up!”

Castiel cast another look over his shoulder again, this time accompanied by a snort. He fell into a more sedate pace, his large bulk swaying with his steps as he slowed. And Dean got close, got real close, falling into step by Castiel’s side with something a little like awe.

He’d never been this close to a deer before, glowing or not. Dean could smell the animal’s fur; it was oily, smelt like the forest, the firm steady scent of pine and earth -an intensified concentration of the air about them.

The walked with a comfortable quiet. After a while the itching sensation at the back of Dean’s mind, the tightness in his chest since he’d woken, ebbed. Castiel exuded calm, a soft temperament at tune with the soft sound of babbling water somewhere nearby, the lilting chirping of birds. 

Dean’s boots crunched over dead leaves, twigs and earth, Castiel’s footfalls made barely a sound.

There was a nicety to it, Dean -he needed this, needed to- he didn’t even know.

It was damn near peaceful.

Dean was immediately suspicious.

He turned his head to Castiel, watched the beast proudly lead him through the forest, eyes intent on the invisible world ahead. Deer were usually skittish, sensitive, and though Castiel’s ears twitched and darted about with every sound, he led Dean with a determined gait.

Dean followed him to the edge of a ravine, amongst an undergrowth of composting leaves and debris. Castiel followed the sloping hill downward, his massive feet dragging and kicking up leaves. Dean wondered how difficult it was for him to walk in this way, but then of course he recognised where they were.

Oh— this was where he had fallen. Where he’d died.

When Castiel realised Dean had stopped right there on the edge. He blinked and cocked his head to the side and lifted one hoof, smacking it against the ground, urging Dean to follow him down into the gully.

Dean breathed in a tight breath, the air was the same here as anywhere else, no stench of death. So he did.

Though it didn’t smell, the wendigo’s body had already started decomposing - the rotting flesh rotting further, still recognisable human-esque or at least human like. 

Dean turned away, bile rising. So much for a nice walk in the woods. 

 _She needs to be washed, to have the proper burial rites,_ spoke Castiel. Dean tensed at the voice more so than his words. _She deserves honouring._

“Castiel—”

 _Bring her to the water._ There was power behind the request, though it was spoken softly. 

“Seriously?” Dean asked, looking into blue eyes. “ _Seriously_?”

“Mawww,” snuffled Castiel. He licked at his snout, standing firm.

“Jesus Christ.” Dean said. He edged toward the wendigo, which still didn’t stink, thank god for that, “You’re not gonna offer a little assistance?”

In response Castiel just sat. Rather inelegantly - folding his front legs and then his back in a gangly juggling act to rest by the water’s edge. He lapped at the water for a few sips, his glow seeming ethereal against crystal blue.

“Right.” Dean said, forcing a smile. “Awesome.” 

The wendigo was lighter than Dean imagined, the weight and build of a human woman. Dean stood about it a moment, looked it over. He could see where  roots had bored into its flesh, tore it up. It’s eyes - or what had been its eyes - were now empty, two blackened mouths open in gaping o’s. Dean remembered Castiel’s bowed head, a flash of silver white -- burning. Dead especially, the wendigo was an ugly mother fucker but with her eyes burnt out like that - fucking gruesome.

Castiel watched Dean without comment. It was not until Dean had dragged the body across the bank into the shallows that he shifted, turning his great, heavy head toward the body.

Dean shucked off his jacket and peeled off his shirt. His chest, unblemished now from Castiel’s healing, prickled with the refreshing chill. He slipped his jacket back on, zipping it up - keenly aware of blue eyes on him.

“So I just—” Dean made a face, gripping his shirt in one hand.

 _You can use just your hands if you prefer it._ Castiel intoned.

Dean did not prefer it. 

He washed the dead wendigo, dipped his shirt in the water and dabbed and wiped. Slowly, increasingly the blood, the dirt, the filth- it all washed away downstream.

Castiel shuffled closer, moving awkwardly on deer-like knees and elbows. He came to the wendigo’s other side, dipped his head and licked at the blood, grime and dirt, as though grooming a new-born fawn. When he dipped his snout into the cavity of the wendigo’s torn chest, Dean paused in his ministrations, easing back. He watched unthinking, as Castiel emerged with a slice of bloody wendigo flesh between his lips.

Castiel did this several times and each piece he chewed, slowly, making them last. He ate while Dean worked. Somehow, Dean didn’t even know how, it seemed a good thing for him to do: respectful, not - not something _repulsive_.

Still pretty gross though. 

Little by little, wipe by wipe; dead skin flaked off the wendigo’s body exposing soft pale pink skin beneath, smoother and more human, as though colour had been wiped back into it. The creatures rotting nails had fallen out when Dean had lifted her hands in turn to clean her arms. Now delicate, human nails were there, as soft and breakable as a newborn’s. Like a snake shedding it’s skin, the wendigo mask was peeled away little by little, by Castiel’s probing tongue and snout, by Dean’s trembling hands. 

Dean cleaned meticulously, ridding the gunk from the creature’s shallow cheekbones, scraping loose flesh from its form as though scratching down to the raw nerve. He had to use his hands to carve out the human body from the wendigo slush -use his shirt, bloody and ruined, to clean away what he could.

The remnants of the wendigo that Castiel didn’t eat were nudged into the water, eroding away like bath salts before Dean’s eyes.

The change in the creature before him was soon unable to be ignored.

There lay a seventeen-year-old girl; newly born, freshly dead by Dean’s side.

She still needed to be washed in the river -what little wisps of her hair that remained fell out in clumps, catching around Dean’s fingers in the water, her scalp was raw in places, bloody in others. It took everything in Dean not to vomit and then some.

By the time he was finished his own cheeks were wet, but not from the river. His hands were caked in filth. He wanted to gag, but washed his hands furiously in the moving water, as Castiel rose to his feet.

 _You have questions for me.  He_ said, licking the blood and ichor from about his muzzle.

Dean scrubbed at his fingernails, used a small wet rock to dig out gunk from his nail beds.

_Dean?_

Dean choked out a sound, nodded to show he was listening.

Instead of repeating himself Castiel stepped forward. Dean could feel the creature right behind him, could hear his every breath, but he kept his eyes down, a tear dripped down his face clung to the end of his nose. Then two.

Something gentle nudged against his back, between his shoulders. _You’re clean,_ said Castiel _._ Another gentle prod. Your question?  
  
He was clean, either by Castiel's hand or his own- he didn't remember.

“Well I’ve got a fuck-lot more after that.” Dean laughed hollowly, the end of the chortle getting lodged in his throat. He tried not to gag. “So uh, I just wanted to uhh— I wanted—” _why?_  

_Why me?_

_Why did you choose me?_

_I have nothing to give. I am-_

_So why?_

**_Why!_ **

Dean swallowed, wiped at his face with his sleeve. He looked at his shirt -a complete write-off - “Just thanks, dude-dudette? You’ve got horns so,” he focused on a tree, not a special tree, just any -anything that wasn’t blue eyes in a white face. “Thanks, Castiel f-for saving me.”

Castiel swayed his great head, the rack of his horns looking gold in the morning light. Silent, he turned and made his way back up the embankment. Each of his steps were slow, precise, he scuffed at the ground every so often, not stopping until he was at the top of the ledge, towering over Dean like something regal.

 _Don’t thank me for your life Dean Winchester,_ he said hooves sinking into the soft soil. He tossed his head toward the Wendigo’s body, no less horrific than before no less torn, but still somewhat cleaner- human. Some how that made it all so much worse.

_Mourn the loss of hers._

Castiel swayed his massive crown of horns stepping back. Dean looked past the girl's body, didn’t look at it- _her_ \- focusing instead on the stones and dirt just by her flayed shoulder.

“What now?” he asked, the words slipping out.

Castiel pawed at the earth beneath his feet, his gaze settled on the spot meaningfully. _Now, you dig._

Several hours later, Dean stood on the edge of the forest, feeling something akin to a residual shimmer at Castiel’s glow retreating. Already the entire encounter was beginning to feel like something that had happened to somebody else, a long time ago. 

Pamela’s front door was open, and Dean had nowhere else to go. He had nothing. He walked right on through, took his boots off at the door and left his soiled shirt on the patio- he’d had no intention of salvaging the thing but he hadn’t been able to let go of it all through his trek back, as though the ruined cloth was stitched to his fingers.

Pamela was there at the kitchen table waiting for him.

“Got anything to drink stronger than tea?” Dean asked her, voice cut raw and hushed. He didn’t care that it was obvious he had been crying -that he was covered in dirt and blood and bits of flesh, smelling like shit. He was used to being a bit roughened up after digging out graves.

As though she had known he was going to ask, Pamela slid him a freshly opened beer from across the table, from which Dean drank gratefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:** Angst, Death and Mild Gore, Dean Winchester's low self-esteem, Depressed!Dean (Not to be confused with _depression_ )


	6. Chapter 6

**_  
_**

**_Home, Stowe, Vermont, 2015_ **

 

Same stupid floppy hair, longer if anything. Big, broad shoulders. Damn. Sammy’s grown up. Kid has a jawline now, seeming to be made up of hard lines all over. It was— disconcerting to say the least, seeing his little brother so changed. Dean found himself failing to keep from staring at the kid — man now, shit. It was hard to pick out this vision of Sam from Dean’s picture of the old-Sam. Last Dean had seen him, there’d been yelling and anger and tears—this Sam seemed calm, collected. Dean stared at him because he had no words.

Sammy’d gotten a lot taller. 

The morning had been going alright… well, better than Dean had imagined after accidentally knocking his kid brother out, barely explaining a thing and acting like a self-conscious douchebag. It had been necessary (not the douchebag nor unconscious part) but to stop the inevitable duke out between Sam and Cas— probably having Sam unconscious was better all round for everyone.

Besides, judging by his snarky general pain-in-the-ass little brother schtick this morning the kid was doing fine, little bumped, little scraped. Maybe Cas could heal him up, let Dean take the brunt of Sammy’s pain. It’d be the least Dean could do after… everything.

Dean headed up into the hallway and grabbed Cas’ robe from the back of the bathroom door. He couldn’t hear anything walking (quietly) back toward the kitchen, which was a good sign really. Not the best, but better than outright fighting or—

Then Cas, the lovable son’va’bitch had to go and _growl_.

“Did you just growl at me?” Sam snarled, making a move to get up out of his chair.

Dean fell instantly into damage control mode.

He set his hand on Sam’s shoulder and pressed down as he passed— keeping his tone light, joyful, at the same time he chucked a bathrobe over Cas’ head.

“Here, man. Modesty is next to godliness.” The robe flew over and covered Cas’ glowering expression. Dean repressed a smirk when Cas huffed from beneath it. He wriggled about in his seat while righting himself, dressed and pulled the robe around his waist tight and tied it up in a bow. Like a goddamned birthday present, Dean smiled at the thought. That smile faded though when he noticed Sam glaring between them.

“Thank you.” Cas intoned, rough voiced. Dean caught some movement from Sam out of the corner of his eye, surprise. He knew the feeling, Cas’ voice was deeper and rougher than his human form suggested, and it had surprised Dean just as much when he’d first heard him speak with his mouth.

Cas rose from his seat and brushed by Dean’s side- his version of a thank you. He squeezed Dean’s arm in passing, Dean leant a little into it.

Dean knew he hadn’t tamed Cas. To be honest he had never really tried. Cas still came and went on his own whims, sometimes remaining only god-knows-where for days at a time. He would still drop what he was doing at a moments notice and announce that there was someone in the woods or that a child was lost or that a new animal had been born. Sometimes Dean would be speaking and Cas would look right through him, agelessness trapped in a single moment. Castiel took human form for Dean’s benefit Dean knew that— and almost equally as much, he remained an animal.

Dean tensed, but didn’t make a move when Cas stopped in front of Sam’s chair. He knew Cas wouldn’t hurt Sam—had known in the forest. Cas was just... sensitive about hunters. Dean hadn’t given him enough warning — it had been his fault, that whole mess. The two of them just needed some time to get to know each other. 

Dean sucked in a sharp breath because Sam was tense, fingers curled on the table top, looking at Cas when he stopped before him, barely a couple of feet between them.

“You’re tall,” said Cas.

Dean watched Sam’s eyes widen. He figured Sam was possibly the largest human Cas had seen—at least by Dean’s knowledge. And the only stuff he had been able and even willing to share with his husband about Sam had always framed the man in a much younger— and therefore smaller — light. It was funny.

It was less funny when at Cas’ approach, Sam’s hand twitched to reach for a gun he luckily wasn’t carrying.

Oblivious, Cas turned to Dean a familiar pin-point between his brows. “He’s taller than _you_ Dean.” Because of course for Cas, Dean was somehow the entire baseline for humanity.

“Hey—I’m not that short, Babe.” Dean winked.  
  
He didn’t realize he was grinning until Castiel smiled in return, a soft little thing that was hinting gums and crinkles around his blue eyes. His hair was five-kinds of fluffed up, jutting out from his skull. Dean found it endearing and he wondered if his own hair was doing the same.

The tone of Sam’s voice cut through the moment. “Dean—” Sam said, getting up from the table his hands were firmly planted on, knuckles white. “Can I talk to you?”

Dean didn’t like that tone of voice. Cas picked up on it— he wasn’t smiling now, and he’d moved out of Sam’s space, more to Dean’s side. Dean repressed the urge to take his hand — counteract some of that negative energy he knew Cas was attuned to and Sam was giving off. But instead (because still after ten years he was an asshole) he smacked a kiss onto the side of Cas’ head, a wet sloppy _Mwa_ that had Castiel squinting up after him but less tense than before, the side of his face spit slick, hair mussed up.

“Eat up, Cas.” Dean said following Sam out. He sent a quick assuring thought Cas’ way. He’d just be a minute—

 _Be careful._ Came the reply, echoing comfortably familiar in Dean’s head.

_He’s my brother._

_Still._

Dean pursed his lips and met Sam in the other room. A part of him wanted to warn Sam that this was not exactly private— not in this home, but his brother had that look on his face, all scrunched up and brooding and Dean was in no position to tease or to question. He wasn’t like that anymore; _they_ weren’t like that anymore.

“Dude—” Sam began.

“Dude?” Dean cut in.  
  
Sam scowled. “Dean, you married a shifter.”

“Cas ain’t a shifter, man.”

“Yeah, because one moment he was a fucking bear trying to kill me—”

“He wasn’t—”  
  
“And the next—” Sam held up a hand, _held up a hand in Dean’s friggen face_ to stop him. “He’s some dude in your kitchen who you call _Babe_? You—you married a _monster_.”

Okay. No. Cas was a lot of things, _a lot of things_ — but not a monster. Never a monster. Dean could feel his own hackles rising, to be honest he hadn’t really been expecting any hurdles, but maybe he should have thought this through a little more. How much of their Dad’s view on the abnormal had brushed off onto Sam in the last decade?

“Cas is one of the good guys man.” Dean asserted, a decade’s dormant fire brewing in his gut, rising up his chest to ignite his words. He watched Sam falter though, and had to remind himself that, fuck, this wasn’t some asshole passing him on the street, or a shitty hunter, or his Dad.

This was Sammy.

And Dean knew better than anyone the ingrained Winchester issue to distrust anything that wasn’t human the first go around.

“He’s a spirit alright a — a goddamned _Ent_ or something, a protector. Saved me, saves people more times than I ever have, Sammy.” Sam’s eyes cast down to the floor and maybe, maybe Dean was getting through to him. He stepped forward and gripped his brother’s shoulder tight, squeezing. “Sam, he’s one of the good guys.”

“He’s not human—”

Dean’s heart sank into his feet.

“Dean—”

“Just as an aside Sam, I can hear you both perfectly well —Dean,” Cas stepped out from the doorway behind Dean, his blues eyes intent on the two brothers, shifting sleepily between them. “We have run out of soy.”

“Soy?” Sam repeated, expression falling flat and tense all in one measure.

Castiel looked at him. “It’s another term for _soya_ ,” he looked to Dean as though for assistance, explaining slowly. “It’s…a replacement for animal protein.” 

Dean felt his cheeks heat a little when Sam’s incredulous look bore into the side of his face.

“Damnit man,” he scolded Cas, “I told you to go easy on that crap — it’s expensive.” Most things were expensive in a town like this — but the healthy and soy shit that Castiel favored almost cost an arm and a foot from the only organic store in town. “I’ll buy more Monday okay?”  
  
“Monday...” said Cas, his disappointment clear.

Dean turned to him, his back to Sam, and threw up his hands in a ‘what the fuck am I supposed to do’ gesture. “Yes. Monday. Cos you think Mr Pent the major-asshole is gonna open his store on a freaking Sunday then you got another thing coming, Babe. And you—” he shot a finger to Sam, refrained from poking the giant right in the chest, but stuck it in the guy’s face all the same. “You unclenched enough to get that stick out of your ass and come and eat breakfast like a normal person?”

Sam stared down at Dean’s finger, then looked up, his gaze shifting back and forth between Dean and Cas. He looked pained, but swallowed and managed in a voice that was excruciatingly softer, “yeah, Dean. Always liked your cooking man.”

The mounting tension in Dean’s chest uncoiled a little. “Cool.” He said, dropping his arm back to his side, curling his fist into his robe. Crisis averted—for now. “You both eat, _explain_ ,” he looked meaningfully to Cas, “Be merry. I’m gonna to go get you some pants, you hippie.”

Must have been a good plan of attack as neither his husband nor his brother argued.

**_____**

 

Fortunately, Dean returned quickly with some pants.

“Thank you.” Castiel intoned.

Sam turned his head while Castiel decided to squirm in his seat, lifting and rocking his hips in an attempt to pull the sweats up. It wasn’t the most threatening move, nor the most graceful—  like a toddler trying to pull up their pants and struggling.

There must have been a moment, Sam figured, when Dean woke up one morning and said to himself, ‘hey, how about I get hitched to a supernatural creature today, that could be interesting’ and then gone about and done exactly that. A completely idiotic move. 

There was a plate of toast hovering in front of Sam’s face now. Castiel was holding it out to him, his robe open to his waist, exposing a toned bare chest.  
  
“No. Thanks.” Sam said. Castiel slipped back into his seat, wordless. He set the plate on the table.

“Be nice.” Dean warned as he came and sat beside Castiel, chairs pushed close. He grabbed at his own breakfast, toast and what looked like black tar instead of coffee, and shoved the plate across to Sam.  
  
“I _said_ thanks.” Sam mumbled, Dean shot him a _look_.  
  
Anger surged then quickly faded. Sam knew Dean was right, he was being childish.

Dean’s eyes on him were beady and paranoid. Sam took a much more careful sip of his coffee. His hands cradled the mug, savoring its heat. When the moment swelled and nothing was said, he carded his fingers through the hair behind his ears.

There had been this initial feeling of betrayal on realising Dean had shacked up with a supernatural being. Sam felt like Dean could have said something before he was almost maimed.

But Dean’s eyes had lit up— it was right there right in front of Sam when he looked at Castiel. And when Dean had said his name, _Cas,_ the betrayal throbbed a little.  
  
Sam had to face it now, here at the breakfast table. Talk about it openly. Dredge up the thing he dreaded dredging up. People needed Sam and now Sam needed help—needed _Dean_ — the irony wasn't lost on him.

“Alright— so” Dean set his coffee down, scrubbed a hand over his face and up into his hair. “This isn’t awkward at all.”

“It’s incredibly, awkward,” Castiel amended. Sam tried not to choke on his food. “Your brother’s having very conflicted thoughts about our relationship.”  
  
“Cas—” Dean sighed.  
  
Sam was a little distracted, staring across at Castiel. “You can _read_ _minds_?”  
  
Castiel barely looked up from his plate. “No. I’m just very attuned to intention, vibration.” He gestured at Sam with the knife he’d used to butter his toast — but seemed to think better of it and set it aside. “You have a strong aura.” He ate some of his toast, small nibbling bites then added simply, “for the record that’s a compliment.”  
  
“What are you? Exactly.” Sam asked, trying to lessen the scathing lilt to his words. Dean’s flash of annoyance fixed him in his seat.  
  
“Hungry, sleepy.” Castiel set down his toast, and pulled long mouthfuls of black coffee from a plain white mug. He spoke- rudely, Sam noted- after several mouthfuls. “Your closest western approximation would be something like an elemental spirit, a lesser deity or god.”

“A _god_ ,” said Sam, flicking through the at-hand lore in his mind. Elementals, forest spirits what —nymphs? Sam hadn’t had much experience with this sort of thing, and going on the tangent of a _god_ —that meant sacrifices and centuries old feuds and danger.

And here Dean was sharing a bed with the thing. 

Sam didn’t want to think about that.

Castiel crunched on his toast, sipped from his coffee. “It’s not an exact approximation— the centuries have twisted human understanding of beings like myself. I would be similar, related even— to that vein of thought. We are peaceful entities with, as I have explained to Dean in the past, little inclination to harm others.”

Castiel cast a glance at Dean then, one which was returned with a soft smile.  They exchanged fond looks. It occurred to Sam then that the two of them were probably holding hands beneath the table—jesus. He put down his toast and dragged his coffee closer—god he hoped those pain killers he had taken would kick in soon.

“Up until meeting Dean,” Castiel went on, turning to Sam. “I lead a fairly simple, if somewhat nomadic lifestyle. I’m of no threat to you.” Sam swallowed. Castiel’s impossibly blue eyes cut sharp with sudden intensity. “Nor your brother.”  
  
“Have you ever killed a human? Taken a life?”  
  
Dean’s jaw clicked. “Sam—” he warned.

“I’m a guardian,” Cas cut him off. Dean pursed his lips— practically a pout. “I protect the forest; I maintain order within the bounds of my land. There is a certain amount of _overseeing_ that that entails, both in terms of life, and within the bounds of death. I’m sorry I scolded you as I did,” Castiel added, speaking gravely. “I’m not fond of guns.”

Scolded? Sam gulped on his coffee to keep from rebutting the term. There was a fine line between scolding and attacking.

Dean was giving him a look, something close to a plead. Damn.

“It’s uh— okay. I get it.” Sam managed with some effort. He hesitated for a moment, and not for the first time wished he and Dean still had their old familiarity, back when he could almost read his brother’s mind. Dean wasn’t saying much, munching away listening, it reminded Sam of the arguments he’d had with John when he was alive, when Dean had always melded into the background; cast to the side while trying to intervene in a fight.

Luckily Sam’s experience with Castiel— up to and including the forest— was all a whole lot more civil than any of his confrontations with John had been.  
  
“Do you know anything about what’s coming? What’s been happening?”

Dean visibly tensed.

Castiel turned to the window, searching for something beyond the trees. “I’ve felt…a shaking of the ground on which I stand. There’s a presence, something’s wrong.” Blue eyes swivelled around, dragged across the table, Sam’s chest, to rest up on his face. “Can you tell me more of your findings, what you’ve seen? I may be able to help.”

“Hold up a sec, Cas—” said Dean, his hand slid up from under the table and gripped Castiel’s shoulder. “You didn’t say anything about this “feeling” before?”

Castiel blinked. “It didn’t seem prudent. I know of your distaste for the abnormal.” Sam kept his eyes on Dean’s expression. “I had hoped whatever it was would simply fade before it became an issue or at least never reach our land.”

“And do you know what it is?” Sam asked, “the problem?”

Castiel’s eyes were grave, dark, like an incoming storm promising something electric. “No,” he said and Sam released a chilling breath. 

"Sam says it’s like some black thing.” Dean begun to explain, Cas’ attention pinged onto him instantly, completely looking away from Sam. Dean held the entirety of his attention.  
  
“People are disappearing into the forests-” Sam picked up, it took a moment for Cas’ eyes to turn to him. “Not just one but, all the ones that seem close to their residence- it’s like, It’s like a possession, something’s drawing them in, we’ve got a couple of people stationed around where the- incidences have been happening and it’s like whatever is possessing them is travelling outward, spreading somehow.”

Blue eyes stayed on Sam silent, a gentle urge to continue. Dean shifted in his seat audibly.

“It fades, in the ones that haven’t been hurt or- or killed during their time possessed, or disappeared into the forest. They just wake up no memory no anything.”

“Like a Demon.” said Dean.  
  
Sam shook his head. “They’re not doing anything while possessed though they’re just catatonic in most cases, just heading in whatever way they can into the nearest forest, it’s like they’re hypnotized. And when they get to the forest.” Sam licked his lips. “There’s this mist or this black smog and it burns it all down.”

The silence after Sam’s testimony hanged heavy. Even Dean had nothing to say, his hands clasped around his mug, eyes down on the table, mouth a moue. It was Castiel Sam had his eye on though, during the spiel he’d kept nearly expressionless, not until Sam mentioned the forests burning did he blink, blue eyes darkening and looking down. 

His eyes weren’t downcast now, they’d lifted. Cut like clear quartz hard, old eyes looked across at Sam, probing him.

“What you’ve described, it’s disturbing,” Castiel admitted to the kitchen table at large he blinked and the thread between them dissolved, Sam felt he could finally look away. “You don’t have any more information?”  
  
Sam held back a laugh at that— honestly he and Bobby had been scrounging up research and intel for a couple weeks, and— in the words of Bobby Singer, _bumpkis_.  No means of research, no leads, no witnesses— or at least none who had anything of importance. Hell not even any information in the bunker, and that was saying something. All in all, there wasn’t really much to share.

Sam’s explanation of this was met with twin frowns.

"You look in the local newspapers, Sammy? Dean asked, "Or check out the local PD? There's gotta be something, there always is." Dean moved over to the bed, sitting down and leaning back to grab the remote.

“This isn’t like some ghost gank, Dean, or a vamp hunt— whatever this thing is? It’s widespread, something like a tornado—  possessing people and making them all just destroy.” he noted how both Dean and Cas’ eyes widened at that. “To be honest I have no clue what I’m going after here,” he admitted. “I could do with some help.”

“Why haven’t you got Dad in on this,” Dean scoffed and shook his head, he wasn’t meeting Sam’s eye. “The man’s a certified Man of Letters— all those books and records, all that _stuff_ , he’d probably be more help than either of us. Probably more than Cas.”

Castiel bit into his next toast with a low rumbling sound, eyes narrowed on Dean.  
  
Dean just looked at him and winked.

While Sam’s gut dropped into his toes.

He had to say it.

“Dean, Dad—” his throat clamped down hard on the words. “Dad died.”

 For a moment there was no reaction. Then Dean got up from the table.

“Shit.”

“Dean—” Castiel began shifting toward him, Dean lifted up a hand, dropped it. His shoulders sagged forward.

Sam’s heart clenched.  
  
“I mean— shit.” Dean grabbed the back of his neck, facing away out to the yard. “When?”

 “A year or two, after you left.” Said Sam. “It was uh— a demon.”

Castiel’s brows furrowed at the mention of a demon. Dean just nodded turning further away from the both of them.

 “I’m really sorry, man.” Sam murmured. “I didn’t… I should have told you the second I—”  
  
Dean’s voice came out strained. “It’s fine.” He managed. Sam swore internally hating himself. There was no good way to break this sort of news, least of all to Dean. Dean paced the length of the table, both Sam and Castiel watched him silently.

“That fucking—” Dean cut himself off, paced, stopped, turned and bit on his lower lip until the skin paled. “Excuse me.”

He walked out, out of the room out of the conversation. Sam made a move to get up out of his chair but was stopped by Castiel’s voice.  
  
“Give him a moment,” he insisted, angular face carved with solemn lines. “Though this is not new for you, for Dean…”

“It’s like Dad just died. Fuck.” The truth of the statement hit Sam like a semi.

Castiel stared at him for a long silent moment. “It’d be easier for you to collect your research and return here. You can stay in the guest room; whatever this is, I fear it’s beyond the scope of a single hunter.”

Sam felt there was an insult in that, several in fact. “Thank you,” he bit back.

Castiel seemed nonplussed. “If you need help with retrieving your belongings—”

Sam sighed and brought a hand up to his neck, rubbing out the tension.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, scathing.

“I’m glad you’re here, Sam.”

Sam’s eyes darted up to Castiel’s face. “What?”

“The way Dean talks about you,” Castiel rose from his seat, taking his own and Dean’s mugs to the sink in a display of surprising domesticity. Why it was suddenly so surprising Sam couldn’t put his finger on. Maybe it was now that he knew was Castiel was, the idea of him doing dishes and folding laundry was painfully mundane. Too much regularity for a creature so irregular. Castiel didn’t seem to mind either way. 

“I know Dean regrets leaving you with your father. He wasn’t well when he left. It was a desperate attempt to do what he felt he had to do to get better.”

“Better?” asked Sam.

Castiel pursed his lips, twisted the faucet to let the sink run. Hot water burst from the plumbing in irregular jets. Castiel frowned, waved his hand over the tap and at once the water ran smoother—  and if Sam looked closer— even a little clearer than before.

He watched the entire ordeal with the appropriate amount of caution, attention narrowed to a point of study— all at once diverted by the topic of conversation.

“I know things were always rough with Dad and Dean and I know after… Well I know things got harder, but was it really that bad?”  
  
Castiel’s shoulders were an impassive line— he looked at Sam from over one shoulder. “I can’t speak on Dean’s behalf, Sam. These matters are very personal for him. Please understand that.”

A brick wall. Sam ducked his head, a little cowed by the comment. He wasn’t privy to his brother’s life like that anymore and Castiel was. That was just, _awesome_.

“I—I get it I do. We’ve all got skeletons in our closets.” He spoke, feeling more unsure of the truthfulness of that than he was really comfortable with. God knew the Winchesters had more skeletons than most. Sam may not be enough for Dean now, tens years a stranger (and a quiet, horrible voice piped up that he wasn’t enough for Dean back then either).

But this case. Sam would deal with that, Sam could solve this— save people, hunt the thing. He just needed the stuff from his room, and, when Dean was ready to talk, they could deal with it together. Sam’s chest expanded a little as he rose from his seat and crossed the room— when Dean was ready they’d hunt this thing. Together.

“I’ll be back.” He said to the kitchen, only remembering to do so upon passing Castiel— as stoic and silent as a statue, calmly washing the dishes. “I’ll bring back all that I have. I could really use Dean’s help on this.”

_Dean’s help, not yours._

Sam stood awkwardly by the door, unsure whether he should be expecting some kind of acknowledgment or response—

“And I’ll be here.” Castiel intoned, somehow making the words sound as much as a statement as a threat.  
  
Sam grimaced but didn’t look back, heading out the front door and into the day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:** Minor Character Death (Happened a while ago), Emotionally Constipated Winchesters, Everyone's a bit of a dick and doesn't know how to react to each other


	7. Chapter 7

**_  
_**

**_Home, Stowe, Vermont, 2015_ **

 

There were words, insistent, loud—over and over. They bludgeoned at Dean’s mind and he choked, stumbling into his room and closing the door.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak. All he could do was lie face down now on his bedspread, and tell himself that it wasn’t his fault.

Because it wasn’t.

It wasn’t.

Even though it felt like it was.

“Are you alright?”

Dean turned his face into his covers, it made it harder to breathe but he knew from experience that the little shock — that little loss of air did a hell of a lot of good to help get his head back on straight.

He blew out a breath when he finally lifted his head, spots danced in front of his eyes but with his chest aching like it was, breath was coming a little easier.

“Do I seem okay to you, Cas?”

His voice was too quiet.

“No.” Castiel leant against the doorway. When he entered to sit at the foot of Dean’s bed and shut the door behind him. “You don’t, but that’s no reason to take it out on me.”

Fuck, Dean’s eyes were burning. He smothered his face back into the covers, probably snotting all over the sheets like a wimp. Christ he was such a baby.

“Dean,” Cas said, an edge to his voice. If he was in a different form, it would come out as a rumble.

Dean felt a light touch on his calf. He sniffled and curled his arms around his stomach, it _ached_.

“M’sorry.” Dean said, it came out wetly.

“Me too.” Cas squeezed him again, petted his calf. He didn’t stop until Dean kicked him off — the touch too soft right now on his burnt and sensitive skin.

“I love you so much.” Was the only thing Castiel said.

And while Dean didn’t doubt that for a moment, he loved Cas too- different of course, but Cas’ proclamation still made his skin feel oily and his bones itch.

Cas seemed to sense it, he took his hand back—settling it on his lap. “I am very sorry you lost your father, no matter how long ago it happened.”

“Yeah — well, what’d I expect?” Dean shifted, slid his legs back to give his husband some room. “M’sorry you’re stuck with me.”

“Don’t say that. Dean…” Cas frowned, he pawed up to Dean’s side, squatting beside the bed. “I am not ‘stuck’ with you. I’m free to leave whenever I please and make note of the fact that I don’t want to. I choose you and at this point in time; I just want to make whatever you’re feeling easier on you.”

Dean was too far gone to reply, god, he hadn’t been this bad in years. He made a sound like a gurgle and then buried his face deeper into his pillow.

“Shhh. Shhh now.” Dean could feel Cas rise off the bed, feel the guy circle round him, back to his feet. He felt Cas lift his left foot and take off his boot, then do the same to the right. “I’m taking off your pants so you can sleep more comfortably.”

Sleep, god, nothing, that sounded like bliss. Dean made another noise. Cas made quick work on his jeans, nudging Dean onto his side. He hummed, always making noise, sniffs, and huffs and hums- and sat back down on the bed, the mattress dipping with his added weight.

Cas’ voice rumbled, a deep sense of _safety_ seeped into Dean’s bones, made him twitch. “You’re home. Sleep, I’ll watch over you.”

Dean didn’t sleep. Instead he rose up on his elbows, rolling toward Cas. “M’sorry,” he said, Dean swiped at his mouth and face, reached out with his other hand and touched Cas’ knee.

“I’m familiar with your needs,” said Cas . He spoke softly, softer still when a fresh wave of eye stabbing wetness managed to break free of Dean, making his chest and throat go tight. “You're safe here.”

Dean opened his mouth and closed it, his control something hard won as he tried to explain. “Cas... _I_ _left_.”

Cas seemed to decide it was best to meet Dean on his level. He lay down next to him, blue eyes patient. “Dean—”

“I left my little brother behind, man,” Dean said, breaking eye contact between them to wipe his cheeks on his pillow again. “I ran and I landed here and I stayed here. I left them? Sammy wanted to go to college—been bitching about it since high school and he could have but I— I took that from him. He and Dad used to get into it, god, it was like there was a tear in the earth right between em and I just...I left them too it.” Dean sniffed loudly, swallowed. He didn’t say anything for awhile.

Eventually, he settled on one heart breaking fact. “I should have reached out. I should have called. I could’ve I just—I didn’t.”

Dean knew why, he was selfish, he wanted. A life of his own, to get out of hunting, to not be the constant buffer between two opposing forces, to not be afraid. And now his bastard of a father was dead. All the gunk and the hate and the anguish and the forgiveness that Dean had been carrying around for the better part of a decade now had nowhere to go. He’d taken all that stuff on, kept it down, expecting one day to have the opportunity to let it go— and now he was never going to be free of it.

He was never going to be able to say he was sorry, never going to be able to hear that apology returned.

So Dean was just lying here, in pain, hearing his dad had just died.

There was a sound of shifting air behind him, a slight increment in the temperature of the room and then Castiel reached out to him again— not as a man this time, but as a small white rabbit.

The change was another favored one of Cas’—and of Dean, though he wouldn’t admit it. He was never much for dogs and was allergic to cats, but Cas in this form was as equally soft and comforting as both of them—without all the pressure and sniffling.

Though Dean was sure as hell doing a lot of sniveling now.

Cas crept up the covers, snuffling along Dean’s side. His tall ears flopped down by the side of his furry white face. His nose twitched, the cutie. If Dean wasn’t feeling so shit, he may have smiled from the sight alone.

As it was—he felt like crap. He reached down to Cas and pulled him to his chest, curling around the smaller fuzzy body. Cas kicked about and bit at Dean’s fingers to get him to ease up his hold. Dean didn’t take it personally though, of course it stung, but Cas was just getting comfortable. Cas did after a bit, bundling himself up under Dean’s chin. Dean gave this kind of shaky sigh curled a hand around Cas’ rump. Cas gave the tiniest, gentlest lick to Dean’s chin, affection and remorse all in one measure, then settled in for the afternoon, closing his eyes.

Dean couldn’t get to sleep. After some time, he noticed Cas had, even if he was only dozing. The blankets underneath Dean were cool, a little too cool. He shifted careful not to jostle Cas, weird little guy, and got under the blankets settling back up beside Cas, who lay there his fur rising faintly with every breath.

Dean stroked a hand over Cas’ fur, again and again and again. It was soothing. It was nothing like touching Cas’ skin but it still was him—smelled like him. He smelled as always, like dirt and the outside, pine trees and running water. Family.

Dean snuffled, grumbling. Soon, not as soon as he liked, but still soon enough, he found himself succumbing to his exhaustion. Curling around Cas’ small body he closed his eyes, tried to shut out the echoes of his mistakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings/Tags:** Anxiety/panic attack, Emotional hurt/comfort, references to past abuse and minor character death


	8. Chapter 8

**_  
_**

**_Random-Ass Lake (Cas’ Probably),_** **_Stowe, Vermont, 2005_**

 

Water was up to Dean’s waist while both his hands were on the rope. Each tug he gave trying to dig up the debris sank his feet deeper into thick layers of mud. He adjusted his grip on the old rope, blindly pulling and fumbling to keep control on—god what was this thing hooked on?

It had been barely a week since Dean’s guided tour of the forest to bury the girl. Now a few days into what he liked to call his _community service_ ; the price for having his life saved apparently, Dean was starting to enjoy the work, and even the company that came along with it. Their latest assignment; pulling crap from the lake with his bare hands, as commanded by the forest spirit. Right, right, not spirit, Castiel. The hell kind of a name was that anyway? Dean couldn't help but wonder. Clearly some sort of spirit-y, pagan-y, otherworld crap that sounded freaking weird coming off his tongue.

“If I’d known I’d be put to work like this...” Dean winced as the rope in his hands pulled taught, snagging on something stuck deep in the river. He huffed, adjusted his grip and yanked hard, spitting out through gritted teeth. “I might’ve just stayed dead.”

He cast a look to Cas behind him, snorting as the spirit-stag stood on the edge of the river, lapping gently at the water.

He didn’t even look up to speak, answering primly. _If I had not of asked for your help in this, what would you be doing now?_

Smart ass.

“I dunno. Something.” Though his shoulders ached Dean worked through it, pulling and yanking, the rope slackened a little in his hands and then, a bike handle bobbed out of the water, the rest of the bike followed. Dean almost fell back on his ass, but had to laugh at the sight of an algae and mud covered wicker basket on the front handle bars. Letting go of the rope he waded closer, grabbed the bike and started dragging it to shore.

“Fuck,” he swore, sweating despite the cool water soaking through his clothes. He sunk further back into the lake, there was probably more junk in there that Castiel wanted out. “Who usually cleans this thing?”

 _No one._ Now Castiel looked up, giant crowned head tilted, animal face blank in what Dean was quickly starting to think of as eternally judgmental, even for a non-human. _I’m unable to in my own form and no other human has cared to assist me_.

“You mean you haven’t been able to con anyone else into slave labor?”

Castiel huffed a wet snort. _You should so me some respect_ , came his voice in Dean’s mind, but it only sounded mild rather than threatening.

Dean glared back for a few moments. Castiel’s eyes big and dark and sinking into him, like watery pools, sucking Dean in.  He felt something that was beyond uncomfortable for the moment prickle down his spine, and practically threw the bike down at Castiel’s hoofed feet..

Castiel glanced down. _Your hands are very capable._ He mused.

“Well—’ said Dean hating the wet dirt and grit sticking beneath his toes. “At least I’m good for something.”

It came out a little sadder than he wanted. A little too raw.

 _Your worth isn’t defined by the fact that you have opposable thumbs, Dean._ Castiel wasn’t glaring anymore. He was still watching Dean closely and honestly it was a little unnerving, but Dean was cool with that so long as Castiel wasn’t plotting anything shifty or planning to eat him.

So far he’d only seen Castiel eat grass. And the bits of that girl actually… so he wasn’t ruling anything out.

 _I think… yes_ . Castiel bent closer to the waterlogged bike, nudging its rusty frame with his nose. _This is fine._ He looked out at the water. _This is much better._ He stepped over the bike hoofed feet leaving prints in the mud.

Dean watched Castiel come toward him, glad the stag wasn’t staring at him but rather at the lake, looking as pensive as a furry face could.

Dean jerked a thumb toward the bank. “You want me to get out or?”

 _You’re fine where you are._ Castiel said, the water climbing up around his knees.

Dean licked his lips—a nervous tick he’d had since forever—and looked down at the water as Castiel waded in deeper, watching it break over his white fur, seeming to drag him down. “Okay so, purifying water. You just gonna—’

He stopped midway through asking what shit they needed to get done next, as his brain had decided right then to take a leave of absence and his jaw just kind of froze his mouth agape.

Cas was climbing up onto the water, _walking_ _on_ _water_. Delicate, pointed treads with his hoofed feet.

Or at least that was what Dean thought he was doing. Castiel walked a few feet across the surface of the lake, only circle ripples echoing out from beneath his weight. Dean didn’t dare move, watching when Castiel stopped, almost levitating. The small rings from Castiel steps broke apart around Dean’s waist. He glanced down--

Course that was the point at which Castiel fell through the water.

"Castiel!" Dean rushed forward, waded with his arms, and kicked with his legs when the water got deep. But Castiel…the whole lot of him antlers and all sunk beneath the surface of the water barely making the river stir.

He was gone.

"Shit." Dean swam forward, and skulled on the spot where Castiel disappeared. Dark it was too dark, he couldn’t see…

Dean sucked in a breath and dived beneath the lake. Too dark, he couldn’t see anything, dirt, fuck Cas?

Dean gasped out a breath when he came back to the surface, duck-diving again to search with his hands, swim deeper. Nothing. He came back up, sculling and calling out.

The water felt suddenly tight around his body, a sudden torrent of heat like a spa jet shimmied up his thighs, crept over his hips, buoying him a little in the water. The water around Dean suddenly felt like a bubble, a solid thing, a small current swirled tight around his chest and thighs.

Cas wasn’t anywhere in sight, wasn’t anywhere below. But something had a hold of him now.

“Castiel?” Dean kicked his legs, furious, pivot-swimming in a tight circle. He splashed at the warmer water, disturbing it but still felt his body pulled in close to _something_ , held tight by _something_. “CAS?”

_Yes?_

Dean almost sank beneath the water when he stopped in shock. Shock as well as something like relief hit him hard in his gut.

The solid hand of water around him snuck up beneath his shirt and held him afloat around the waist. The same _force_ sunk down between his toes, beneath the soles of his feet and raised him up like a platform, up and out of the water until his entire chest was out in the cooler air.

Dean would’ve fell flat on his ass if it wasn’t for the water around him, for _Castiel_ holding him.

“Are you-- h-holy shit!” Dean laughed again and stepped, actually stepped through the water, testing Castiel’s give. It was like walking across a soft mattress, he sank a little but was on something unmistakingly secure. “Holy shit! Castiel!”

Dean snatched a glance down though he couldn’t see anything, just felt— just felt _Castiel_ all around him. Castiel was the lake. Dean crouched, so his chest and his arms sunk beneath the water, he looked ridiculous squatting over nothing but, God this was insane.

He almost fell out of—of Castiel’s little section of water when he realised Castiel’s touch was tingling up his thigh, pressing against his groin, every section of his body within the water was now _within Castiel_.

He should really be more careful about his thoughts right now.

 _Dean,_ the water tightened around him to the point where it was an effort to move. _Please stop moving, I’m trying to cleanse._

The water, Castiel was the freaking water. Dean didn’t know what to do where to look what to address, he settled for just looking down. The lake water was very blue. “I’m trying but you just went swamp monster on me man.” He grinned. The grin turned into a full on chuckle – bordering on a giggle, even. “I think I can feel you warming up my junk.”

If Castiel was still able to make that weird _waugging_ sound he did as a stag Dean knew he would have made it then. The thought added hilarity to the already fucking weird situation. He held both hands to his face, then dragged his fingers over his scalp.

 _What’s funny?_ Castiel asked.

“You!” Dean exclaimed, Castiel got warmer around his middle again, right around... Dean hit his palm on the top of the lake like a slap. “Hands off buddy.”

 _I don’t have any hands._ Castiel answered.

“No, shit. Still, no bad touching alright?” It was weird, so weird to actually feel the obvious change of temperature around his thighs and middle when Castiel- shifted? Backed off a little. Whichever. Dean shook his head, something like a laugh worked its way out of his throat. “This is--this is so freaky man.”

The water around his calves and chest tightened incrementally, the watery equivalent of a nudge.

 _Not a man_ said Castiel _. Now hush._ The admonishment was bubbling water.

Slowly, Dean felt Castiel’s presence around him lessen, enough that he sunk to normal buoyancy in the water, having to skull while Castiel fell silent. The comfortable warmth faded. A minute or so of just the still lake, growing clear, the trees on either side of the bank looking greener.

Dean felt Castiel’s voice in his mind before he heard it. Something like a soft nudge, like sitting upright after lying upside down.

 _This lake is purified._ He sounded pleased.

Pleased and affectionate. Dean couldn’t help but smile.

He looked down at his hands and legs moving through the water, it was easier to see them, the water no longer murky or even muddy really. The cleanliness wasn’t unnatural—at least not in comparison to Castiel, but it was noticeable.

Dean kicked his way into the shallower water, feeling himself escape Castiel’s warmth. He felt a little more at ease when his feet sank onto the muddy bank. Still sitting in the water but also in the dirt, Dean looked out at the view and said with a smile: “Gotta say nice job man. You should probably patent this crap--start a cleaning company or something, kick off small cleaning people’s pools. Castiel--”

There was no reply.

“Castiel?”

 _I’m here Dean._ Warmth licked at Dean’s calves, something like the stroke of a hand.

Dean laid his legs down, spread his toes out into the deeper water. Castiel’s grip curled around his leg, the warmth extending no higher than his knee.“You can just turn anything huh?”

Castiel’s answer was a wet hum. _I don’t know what you mean_?

"I mean you--you ever try your hand, hoof, uh, _thing_... at being human?”

Silence. Water rippled around Dean’s body as he began to work his way to his feet.

“Cas?”

He almost slipped in the mud when Castiel— stag Castiel, started to arise out of the centre of the lake. Stepping up out of the water as though climbing back up stairs, strolling toward Dean across the surface of the water with small even treads. Regally, he stepped onto the sandy bank and shook out his body, droplets of water shining in his white fur.

 _Do you know why I favour the form of a stag?_ he asked, voice empty and deep, like someone calling down into a well.

“Wanna tell me while I get out of this water?” Dean asked, a little more eager to get out and dry off now that the water was back to an uncomfortable coolness. “Oh shit, wait, how cold is it now? Crap.”

 _The air’s tepid_ . Castiel noted, not holding back any punches or rather, horned head-butts. _Though you should undress. Lay your clothes out. They’ll dry better off of your body._

Dean huffed out a laugh and climbed out of the lake. _Tepid_ freaking spirit-vocab it was warm or it was cold... tepid, who even said that?

“Eyes off man.” He said shucking his wet shirt, wet feet sinking into the dirt and grass. Dean headed for the large rock by the lakeside warmed by the sun. Stretched his wet shirt out over it and did the same when he slipped off his shorts, casting a look over his shoulder to see—

Dean nearly overbalanced. Why the hell was Castiel still watching him? Creepy. He waved his hand in a kind of ‘fuck off and stop staring’ gesture. Castiel bucked his horned head with a snort and trotted off toward the grass, footsteps dainty, tail raised up.

Dean turned back around before he got an eyeful of deer-butt, internally rolling his eyes. He couldn’t help the hunter side of him from thinking it was fucking _stupid_ to keep his back turned considering what Castiel was and what he could do. Bringing people back from the dead and doing weird forest community service non-withstanding.

Dean knew how to speak with his body, both between the sheets and out of them. He always had a keen eye for reading body language in all its subtle nuances. Back to the supernatural creature right now was some loud and clear message that he was trusting Castiel not to stab him in the back with his horns or something. Considering that Dean could count the number of people he trusted in his life on one hand, that was really saying something.

“Well… I uh— You go stag cos you’re a show off?” he tried to re-prompt conversation as Castiel fell worryingly quiet. Bending down low, he shook out his jeans, then his T-shirt.

Castiel made a gross wet snorting sound, Dean could hear him rummage about in the grass. _This earthly form feels comfortable to me. It reminds me of my origin._

“Your origin?”

_My true form._

Dean stood up and stretched his back, pausing to look out at the lake. The stretch made his wet briefs cling uncomfortably to everything up front and up back. He grabbed at his front and adjusted. “That you can only see in the spirit world right? That’s where you’re from?”

 _More of a realm than a world, like stepping through a door. I haven’t been home for centuries it seems. You’re not cold Dean_? He asked, the last sounding genuinely concerned. 

“Nah.” Dean answered with a smile. One he thought Castiel would return if he could. “What do you mean you haven’t been home?”

Castiel licked at his lips. One ear flicked in Dean’s direction. _The doors are shut to me now. It’s a non-issue..._ he added a little quick, the most _emotional_ Dean had ever heard him. A slight break in the monotone gravelly timbre, something a little human. But the stoicism returned after a moment. _I like the trees here._

The trees here were trees, green and fresh in the spring, not even starting to lose their lustre as summer was drawing nearer. It struck Dean quite suddenly that he’d never been in a place outside of the Bunker long enough to witness the seasons change.He wondered what Stowe looked like in summer, found himself wondering if in winter Castiel would grow a thicker coat. Would the twisted twig-end thicket of his antlers bow down his head when weighed in snow, get caught up with golden leaves in autumn?

“You’re freakin weird Cas,” Dean said, realising the two of them had been silent for awhile, standing side by side, looking out across the water. “You get that right?”

 _I hope you mean that in a positive light._ Castiel intoned. He broke the connection between them when he walked off toward the trees and his black nose buried in the grass. Dean watched him chewing with contentment. Castiel looked at Dean with one large dark eye and blinked slowly, like a girl looking up at him from under long eyelashes.

Dean turned back to look out over the lake. It did seem a lot cleaner than before, richer. Downright picturesque if he was really going to think hard about it. Quiet. Nice. Only the soft crunch of Castiel’s footsteps as he snuffed about in the dirt, loud enough to be heard.

“All the best people are freaks.” he said finally.

 _Though I appreciate the sentiment_ said Castiel still watching him. _I’m not people._

Bending down low, Dean picked up his jeans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S I really love with the art [Rabidbinbadger](http://rabidbinbadger.tumblr.com/) made for this fic, look at it guys, LOOK AT IT.


	9. Chapter 9

**_  
_**

**_Dean’s Place, Stowe, Vermont, 2015_ **

 

Sam didn’t see Dean again until the sun was just about to start setting.

He could have returned to Dean’s place sooner, but instead he’d waited until the very last moment, toeing the line between avoiding the pair for as long as possible and not being too obvious about doing it.

Carrying his research, his gear and his duffel, Sam entered through the front door of his brother’s home, having only hesitated a few moments deciding whether or not to knock— he’d gone against it, but made an effort to close the door loudly to announce his presence.

Five or six minutes later Dean came down the stairs. Clad in fleece pyjama pants, a small white rabbit lay in his arms, sniffing.

Castiel.

Sam had taken some time whilst away from the house to get out his laptop and phone Bobby about _elementals… forest spirits, pagan gods…_ whatever it was Castiel was calling himself. He’d almost got the older hunter to ring up Rufus and search around a bit, but what Bobby had to say in his gruff no-shit manner halted Sam’s mind from taking the idea too far.

 _“Not much known about ‘em kid. But all the lore points to ‘em being something peaceful, something benevolent.”_ Bobby had said.  Sam’s mood had curled into a further downward spiral. It wasn’t that he wanted Dean to be unsafe or unhappy, but Castiel--

Bobby’s voice had broken his reverie; _“Why do you want to know about this stuff anyhow Sam? You think that has something to do with the case?”_

Sam hadn’t answered him. At least not truthfully. Now just didn’t seem the best time to tell Bobby about Dean’s resurgence. 

He didn’t know how the older hunter would take it. 

“Uh- hey,” He said to Dean, aiming for a gentle tone.

The whole thing about Dad was obviously eating at Dean. It didn’t take a genius to see how cut up he was about it, by the tight hold of his shoulders, the way his lip curled into a fake smile. Sam knew he couldn’t fix it, but he felt guilt all the same. He could have been gentler about it, could could have eased Dean into it instead of springing it on him.

Castiel was right; John had been dead for years for Sam, but for Dean it had only been a few hours.

God, he looked wrecked.

"Hey," said Sam again. _Idiot_. He cursed himself as Dean walked into the kitchen, what he guessed was Castiel (and that was never not going to be weird) in hand. He looked a little like a magician, pulling a rabbit out of nowhere— and Sam was tempted to say so, but bit the words off before they could escape. "You okay?"

Dean sat Castiel on the kitchen table with surprising care, as though he was carrying something immensely precious. And he was, Sam reasoned, still in the process of laying all the facts out in front of himself and examining them closely—the rabbit was his husband after all.

"Yeah, fine," Dean answered, he edged around to the other side of the table, cast Sam’s duffle and research an assessing eye. “Come on man, we can get you set up in the guest room.”

Sam followed him through the house, got settled (as much as he could anyhow) in the guest room under his brother’s watch. Sam could feel Dean about to say something and expected to hear something else when Dean opened his mouth and spoke.

“You want a beer?” asked Dean quickly. Quietly.

Sam didn’t. He’d gotten the chance to grab a meal, and probably one more drink then he should have whilst trying to give his brother some space— give _himself_ some space. But then, Dean was trying and so Sam needed to try too.

“Yeah.” He said. “Alright. Thanks.”

They headed back downstairs in silence.

In the kitchen Castiel had shifted, though he was still a white rabbit (seriously Sam was having a little trouble dealing with this, it took some effort not to stare or stamp on the guy out of instinct) he had moved from where Dean had placed him on the bench. Now, he sat huddled by the front door. One of his ears stood half-cocked, the other flopped over a furry cheek but twitched with the sound of Dean and Sam entering.

“Jesus,” said Sam as Dean passed him. “So he just shifts like that whenever he feels like it?”

Dean ducked down to Castiel’s level. Sam quirked a grin seeing how tenderly he worked his fingers down Castiel’s furry back. The white rabbit’s eyes fell closed, and he seemed to settle more fully into the massaging touch. Sam noted for a rabbit he was definitely smiling; the petting must have felt good.

Wait... was that like foreplay? Sam really didn’t want to have to ask, or really interrupt, but _come on_ there was a time and there was a place.

“Basically, yeah,” answered Dean.

It took a moment for Sam to realise what he was talking about.

“Is he like a shifter, can he turn into other people or into anything? What about non-sentient things, like a rock or—?”

In answer the bunny- _Castiel_ twitched his nose. The air about him and under Dean’s hand began to glow. Dean shifted back on his heels, hand withdrawing. In a matter of a few seconds, Sam watched jaw dropped, as Castiel turned into a white whirl of suspended mist. When the mist cleared where the rabbit once rested, now a small shrub, propped upright by its own stretching ash-white roots, sat.

Sam almost tripped backwards over the kitchen table.

“Oh… oh _wow_.” 

“Cas — quit showing off man.” Dean scolded the plant. But maybe there was something a little gentler edging around his features. He turned to Sam and lifted one shoulder. “Dude’s got a serious ego problem, y’know. Shifts into anything if it gets him a reaction.”

Castiel’s leaves shimmied as though in great rebuttal, clearly offended. His roots flexed across the kitchen tile. One thin tendril curled around Dean’s wrist.

Sam sat down. It was that or fall.

Dean made his way back to the table, but not before extracting his wrist and opening the front door. His face when he turned to Sam was tired but smiling, just a little thing, but it was enough. 

Sam pulled his eyes away from, well, _Castiel_ and looked over at his brother. A hot weight settled in his chest.

Castiel transformed in the moment Sam’s eyes were off him, more mist dispersing in the air like incense smoke. Before Sam could register it he watched the fuzzy butt of a white rabbit escape out of the door, utterly adorable and utterly ridiculous all in the same moment in such a way that Sam felt weird about thinking it. Dean didn’t seem worried by Castiel leaving, so Sam didn’t comment on it.

“So, beer?” Dean asked again heading to the fridge. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, tossing the fridge door open and plucked two bottles from the door before Sam had the chance to say anything.

While he was busy, Sam rummaged in his pocket. He slid a silver knife, and a small vial of holy water across the table as Dean sat down.

“Was wondering when you were gonna pull that card,” said Dean, popping the cap on his beer before picking the holy water up and sculling it in one shot. He took a deep pull of his beer after. Then picked up the silver knife easily and slide it across his wrist, a thin line of red bubbling up in the blades wake.

Sam watched the whole proceedings with careful eyes, wondering what the ease with which Dean accepted the tests, and his own need to do them said about them both.

“I was caught a little off guard.” he admitted, hopelessly glad when nothing came of either test.

Dean snorted took another swig. “What would Dad say about that, hey?”

The air held taught like an un-plucked guitar string, neither brother saying anything for a long moment. When they next spoke it was at the same time.

“Fuck, Sam, I—”

“Do you want me to—”

Silence.

Wordlessly, Sam finished his question in action, reaching across the table, to take the last of the holy water and the knife, and do the tests on himself. The blade stung across his skin and he realised he’d cut a little too deep, red seeping.

The sudden sound of Dean jumping out of his seat made Sam’s fingers tighten over the blade.

“Oh come on man, gentle.” Dean scolded, not looking at him. He was busy shuffling through a draw near the sink. He grabbed out alcohol swabs and Band-Aids,walked back to the table, stopping in front of Sam and taking his wrist. “You didn’t need to go so deep, Sammy. Jesus.”

His words were gruff, his touch was soft. A hundred memories of scraped knees, bruised elbows, hot fevers came at Sam from his brothers hands on him. Every time Dean had ever wiped his fever ridden brow, every time he’d sat with him through the night. Sam still had his wrist held out to the air by the time Dean had cleaned up his cut, wrist, bandaged him up and headed to the fridge for another beer.

Sam cleared his throat, and tucked his arm beneath the table. He picked his beer up in his other hand and drank most of his beer in one swallow.

“So... are there any more dead relatives I need catching up on?” Dean’s expression twisted as soon as the words left his mouth, as though he realized in the act of speaking just how that sounded. “Shit--sorry.”

“It’s okay,” said Sam, taking a short pull of his drink. “No, I mean probably yeah more Hunters in the community, it’s been ten years and all but not anyone family not anyone…” Sam went to take a steadying swallow, but his beer was empty. He set it aside. “Bobby; he’s in a wheelchair now. Paralysed on a hunt a couple years back.”

Dean got up again, got another beer. This time he slid it towards Sam, who took it in hand gratefully.

“Christ,” Dean exhaled, though Sam could see something else, grief--working behind his eyes. “how’s he coping with that?” 

“Better. Things were rough for the first couple years. You know how Bobby is.”

“Never one to take anything sitting down.” Dean nodded, then, realising that he could have phrased that a hell of a lot better, awkwardly tried to move the conversation on before Sam noticed. “Hey? Have he and that sheriff lady- Uh, Mills... he and Mills gotten over themselves yet?”

The inquiry brought a smile to Sam’s face. Of course that out of everything would plague Dean’s mind - they’d only been waiting their entire childhood pretty much for the two to get together. “They got married last fall, finally got off their asses about it. We thought it was never coming, honestly they’d been engaged for four, five years.”

Dean’s answering smile was tired but it was a smile, and somehow that made all the difference. “Jeez, man, that’s great.” He said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

The moment felt easy, Sam got swept up into it. “You should come down sometime, they’d all be happy to see you.”

In an instant Dean’s expression changed to one that Sam recognized all too well. It was the same face Dean had always made when Sam told him he was hungry, or that he needed help with his homework, or wanted in on a hunt.

Dean finished off his drink, rolled his shoulders. “Cas doesn’t like to travel much, likes to stick close to his roots.” He then looked Sam in the eye and, shit, Sam must’ve been flashing a sort of puppy face, because Dean crumpled and looked similar to how he did before, but trying to keep it off his face. “But what about you Sammy, you’re hunting so you- you didn’t go to college or nothing? Didn’t wanna settle down?”

And there it was.

“I did get out for a while,” Sam answered slowly, “but—things just didn’t work out.”

_Jess._

He ran a hand through his hair, felt Dean watching him, somehow knowing—

Dean’s cellphone rang and cut through the potential moment. Sam breathed out as Dean got up from the table, answering as he took his bottles and both of Sam’s over to the sink. “Lisa, hey.”

Sam picked at the table of his last bottle. Lisa- he kept his face blank, his ear out. It hadn’t struck him until that moment that not only would Dean have a husband, a home, but he would have a life now, a life with others in it. Others who knew Dean better than Sam knew him now. 

The sound of Dean’s tone pulled Sam out of his thoughts. “Lise—”

Sam looked up, saw Dean standing ramrod straight, eyes on the floor, gripping the phone tight. “Look just take a breath, alright tell me.” He paused. Sam got up out of his seat. “Okay, yeah I’ll get him, we’re coming. What room are you-” Dean cut off, pulled on his hair,  face working into an expression of pain. “I’m coming okay Lise, I’ll get Cas, it’ll be fine. Everything’s gonna be fine, Ben’ll be- yes he’ll come, I promise.”

Dean hung up, swore and headed for the door.

“Dean?”

“You said that thing’s been infecting people?” Dean asked, heading out the front door without waiting for an answer.

It felt comfortable to slip into Hunter mode. “It got to someone?” Sam asked when he caught up.

“Ben.” Dean answered, he headed down the front path. “Ben Braden, fuck- he’s just a kid. He was out visiting his dad in Lebanon and- and I think it’s got to him, Sammy.”

A kid, Ben Braden- okay. Sam ignored the way Dean’s voice shook, how his fingers kept flexing, everything else tight. But Lebanon… that didn’t fit the pattern, that wasn’t even a place on their radar for this case.

Unless whatever was happening was spreading out faster and further than they’d anticipated.

“We’ll take my car,” Sam told him. “Quicker than walking.”

Dean nodded, crouching down on the front lawn. He set one palm on the ground in a gesture familiar from before, chin ducked low, eyes closed.

“Castiel. I need you.” He said aloud and there was weight in the words. They resonated out as a feeling in the soles of Sam’s feet; the shaking glass of water before the T-Rex came. Sam felt his ears pop, as though on an airplane, there was a shift in the air all around which he only realised later was the muffle of the wind audibly changing. It whispered from Dean’s voice and stretched out in all directions; an easy exhale caught on the trees, their branches bending like some kind of instrument.

Dean got up and headed right for Sam’s Commodore. “We gotta go, Cas’ll meet us there.” He walked to the driver’s side and it felt almost like second nature for Sam to toss the Comm’s keys over to him. They slid into their seats, Dean adjusting his own. He pulled out of the hilly driveway without looking back,barely looking over at Sam when he asked:

“Those people you said who got infected… you said most of them come out of it alright?”

Sam swallowed. “Don’t stop at any lights.” he said, grave.

Dean nodded, quick and tight, eyes fixed on the view ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:** Winchester's being constipated with their emotions as per usual.


	10. Chapter 10

**_  
_**

**_Pam’s Place,_** **_Stowe, Vermont, 2005_**

 

June was almost over and the summer heat was at a fever, burning across Dean’s back and face, the tips of his ears and nose. Around midday when every other sensible person about town was holed up in their air-conditioned homes, Dean was standing on the top of a ladder mending the guttering of Pamela’s house.

To be honest he would have preferred to be one of the many; sitting inside in the air-conditioning with a beer, not sweating through his t-shirt and cooking like a lobster in the afternoon sun. But at least he wasn’t alone (which Dean tried not to be if at all possible), Pam was plodding about in a delicious tank and cut off shorts. She’d plunked a portable radio onto her lawn by Dean’s ladder and was now fiddling with the stations, hopping between country and some sort of Reggae-Bob-Marley-cross-Bollywood fusion. Right then, the station’s program switched. Jovi’s _You Give Love a Bad Name_ crackled through the dust infused speakers.

“Seriously?” Dean called down from the ladder.

Pam laughed. “Just go with it, muscle man,” she sung, starting up a chorus along with the band, blending seamlessly into the song. Her vocals weren’t bad but her moves were fucking awful.

Dean’s face crinkled with the nickname and he let out a laugh. He shifted the baseball cap on his head (a little tight, it was Pam’s after all) and tugged a fistful of soppy leaves and debris from the guttering in front of him.

Pam’s voice ran out like a breeze. “You give lo-ve…”

Dean wiped sweat from his brow, global warming conspiracy his ass. He avoided the direct glare of the sun, threw one of his gloved hands up to shield the direct light out of his eyeline. Yeah the heat was a bit annoying but Dean welcomed the lightness in amongst what had been a dark fall. Spring was always nicer, spring was always _nice_. God, Sammy loved this kinda weather.

Reality came crashing down on him so hard he almost fell off the ladder.

It had been a month.

Dean had never been gone for this long before. He knew dad could get testy when Dean would go for a solo hunt that lasted a week or more but fuck, what if he’d left Sammy to bear the brunt of a month’s absence. 

Of Dean walking out in the middle of an argument and never coming home.

Dean got down from the ladder, only half aware he was doing so.

He was an asshole. 

Dean was such a freaking _asshole_. What the ever loving fuck was he thinking?

“Dean. _Dean_?”

He couldn’t just leave Sam on his own with dad. Fuck - he couldn’t leave _dad_ alone with Sam, they’d _kill_ each other.

If they hadn’t already.

The next thing Dean was aware of was Pam’s arms around him, holding him while he sucked in huge, panicked breaths.

 

**_____**

 

One month. Three days.

That old internal monologue chimed in again, it had been doing that for days, telling Dean that he didn’t deserve to be here, that is was all going to fall apart here now. John would find him or worse he wouldn’t even be looking and Dean— he had fucked something up in the worst way by being a coward and running. By taking advantage of Pam— of _Castiel_ ; who had somehow through various trips out for forest clean up, interrogations and all the research Pamela’s horde of lore would allow, become _Cas._ By being weak. This was his worst nightmare, spurred by a lifetime of trying to be loved rather than feeling it. Being selfish and too dependant, too needy. Not being enough for Sam.

 _Dean?_  

“Fucking shit.” Dean groaned by way of greeting and wished, more than anything, that the spirit had not found his way into Dean’s (Pam’s) room. “What’re you doing here Cas.”

_You’re depressed._

“M’not depressed!”

_You are experiencing mood swings, you’re anxious. Tired but not sleeping-_

“I’M NOT FUCKING DEPRESSED CASTIEL--”

Cas growled. Low and deep—a warning. Dean flinched beneath the covers, realising he had been yelling.

There was no mistaking the sound, the vibrations of a wolf's throat thrummed through Dean’s stomach, travelled up his spine making him tremble and curl up tight in the bed. _Fuck shit fuck fuck shit fuck—_

Dean didn’t keep a gun under his pillow anymore. He hadn’t thought he’d need to.

Another mistake, said a voice that sounded like John.

A weak noise escaped Dean’s throat.

In the dark, under the heavy coverings, he felt Castiel’s nose probing about before he saw it. Cas’ muzzle, wet and furred broke apart the dark, nipped at his blankets and pulled them back, took away the dark with another grumble.

Dean didn’t fight him, you don’t fight a wolf, and was met with gleaming dark eyes as Cas, massive and furred, propped his feet up on the bed and leant his face down, level with Dean’s own.

 _Don’t raise your voice to me._ Cas said, but there was an apology in there too, somehow. Dean wasn’t sure how he felt it but he did. Course it didn’t make him feel all that better either. _It’s my understanding depressed and depression are two different things. Neither of which is something you need to feel guilt for, feel ashamed of._

Dean was too tired to roll away from him. Instead he just closed his eyes. “Cas—”

_You didn’t answer my summons._

Dean swallowed down hot guilt. His fingers curled into his palm till the point of pain.

Cas sniffed him carefully, then got up on the bed. _Fuck_ —Dean did roll away then; Cas was _huge_. Larger than any dog he had ever been near, easily matching him in size.

Cas stood tall in the space Dean had just vacated, bent down with front paws and began to lick the sheets. Weirdo. Dean grunted and pulled the blankets back up past his shoulders. He could hear the scrape of Cas’ rough tongue moving quickly and efficiently. Feel the air from Cas’ tail as it whipped about.

Dean tried not to flinch when Cas lay down beside him. _It’s just Cas it’s just Cas._ But the thought wasn’t reaching his brain and it made it hard to breathe, he was still shaking.

 _Pamela also summoned me._ Cas admitted.

Something in Dean’s chest moved.

“Pam—”

He could feel Cas edge forward on his belly, shaking the whole damn bed with creaks.  In an uncharacteristic gesture Cas licked the exposed bit of Dean’s shoulder with the tip of his tongue. Wet but warm. Dean shivered.

 _She seems to think I will be able to snap you out of this,_ came the rumbly reply, hot against Dean’s skin.

“That or eat me.” Dean said aloud by accident and tensed.

 _I don’t eat animals for that purpose. _Humans in this instance, count as animals._  _The gentleness to Cas’ tone was surprising. _I'm not going to try and snap you out of anything._

“Not exactly the Big Bad Wolf then huh?” said Dean a little deliriously.

Cas huffed. Dean felt it on the back of his neck.

“Cas?” He was suddenly so, so tired. But he couldn’t shut his eyes he couldn’t sleep. Every part of him tensed, switched on like a live wire. "I-I want—"

_Yes?_

Something a little hot, a little wet touched the back of Dean’s neck, urging him on. Dean squirmed but found himself unable to move away--unsure if he even wanted to.

But he deserved to be alone. To be lonely.

“I-I wanna be alone right now.” 

Lie, said a voice that sounded suspiciously like Sam.

The touch went away.

Cas shifted, sitting up on his front paws. _If that’s what you need from me._

Dean’s chest throbbed with a new bout of pain. “Don’t—" 

It was instinctual to reach out, instinctual to grab ahold of Cas and pull, to keep someone goddamned here with him for _once_.

He felt the roll of Cas’ growl through his fingers, embedded deep in soft alive fur. It was scary and real and here and _scary_ and for the first time in days Dean felt something, felt _here_.

Cas could bite his hand off. The smallest part of Dean right now, kinda wanted him to. Anything instead of this feeling.

Dean uncurled his fingers but pressed his palm into Cas' side all the harder. “M’sorry. Fu-please.”  He said, thought, breathed. Cas’ growl faded into a rumble like distant thunder. Still there, something alive under Dean’s fingers but less aggressive.

Slow, almost wary, Cas laid back down.

There was something about seeing Cas as a wolf that was deeply disturbing. Different than the water it was—honestly it was still hard to actually believe it was Cas he had been swimming in all those weeks ago. Cas as water and now as a white wolf…he was changed so completely from what Dean knew. He was smaller, yes but instantly something Dean feared. Though his light coloring and dark nose were the same everything else was predator, aggressive, power. No longer tall and regal with a thicket of horns.

Dean had never been this close to a dog, let alone a wolf before.

Cas lay there, head propped up on his paws. He did look a little like a normal dog though his fur shaggier, longer, his features more streamlined and sleek. He was breathing slowly and for once Dean found himself unconsciously matching the rhythm, feeling Cas’ side expand to meet his own, feeling him release a breath, his fur shifting.

 _It’s alright If you want to stay still for awhile,_ said Cas turning to face Dean. He smacked his black lips, a pink tongue sneaking out to lap at his own nose, inches from Dean’s face. Dean was too tired to move away.

_We all need to rest sometime._

When Dean made a move to turn away Castiel shuffled forward, slowly, stopping only for a moment a breath away from Dean’s face. He whuffed softly, then turned back to rest his chin on his paws, not breaking the intimacy of the moment but still shifting it.

_You can’t stay here forever Dean. But it’s alright if you need to be here now._

Dean didn’t say anything, he couldn’t. With a tug he pulled the blanket up past his head. Cas’ furred profile disappeared.

 _I will make sure nothing disturbs you._ Came Cas’ voice out of the black.

Eventually, impossibly Dean fell asleep, surrounded by a blanket cocoon smelling of roots and fresh rain _,_ and a steady deep breathing beside him, making Dean’s own heartbeat fall into rhythm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings/Tags:** Anxiety/panic attack, Emotional hurt/comfort, references to past abuse.
> 
>  **And just a heads up for the rest of the fic** , moments of physical _intimacy_ between Dean and Cas when he's not in a human form will only grow and continue from here. Though there will be no explicit scenes like this in the fic (i.e sentient bestiality)- it's heavily implied that both Dean and Cas could care less however the other is looking whatever it is they do together.
> 
> Just wanted to give a heads up :D
> 
> Let me know if you have any concerns/questions!


	11. Chapter 11

**_  
_**

**Copley Hospital, Morrisville, Vermont, 2015**

 

Copley hospital was a twenty-minute car trip, though Sam noted that Dean made it there in ten.

They pulled up in the parking lot with a screech, Dean braking with enough ferocity that he almost missed the parking spot entirely.  He was out of the car so fast that Sam didn’t even get a chance to grab him and tell him to calm down - which would probably have been a bit hypocritical of him anyway, seeing as he was sweating bullets through his shirt.

Sam glanced around, noticed that they were illegally parked in a disabled space. Dammit Dean, he grimaced, sense of urgency battling with the desire not to be _that_ asshole. Urgency won, plus the realisation Dean had taken the keys with him anyway.

Even with his leg span, Sam had to run to catch up. The two of them crashed into the waiting room, Sam breathing heavily, Dean’s eyes darting around. When they fell on a brunette woman pacing by the entry Dean made a soft, pained sound at the back of his throat and sprinted toward her.

“Where is he?” Dean asked, Sam jogged to match his step. “Lise?”

The brunette woman (pretty, Sam would faintly register later) looked up at Dean with watery, only momentarily relieved eyes. She took his outstretched hand in her own. They stood so close together the two of them, Sam clearly the outsider.

“In intensive. At least intensive for this place, god.” Her eyes fell on Sam and her expression hardened. “Where’s Castiel? Is he—”

Dean turned his shoulder to bring Sam in. “He’s coming, Lise don’t worry,” he let go of Lisa’s hand with one of his own and gestured to Sam, “he’s here to help.”

“Sam Winchester,” said Sam. He didn’t expect much of a reaction and didn’t get one. Lisa’s mouth twisted, eyes darting between him and Dean for all but a second before the importance of the situation at hand took back focus.

“What happened?” Dean prompted, a bit of a hunter’s edge coming through. Sam could almost hear him recite to himself; figure out what happened, work out a solution.

“I don’t know what happened, I don’t know.” Lisa’s looked to the both of them, voice breaking a little at the admittance of her own confusion. “E-everyone on the bus is infected with-with something and Ben—”

“Has he said anything?” Sam asked, thinking on the others the ones who didn’t walk off into traffic, off cliffs and into lakes, all trying to get to the trees. “Done anything?”

“It’s gibberish. He’s saying things that I can’t—” she swallowed and shook her head. “He’s been between almost unconsciousness and-and these...violent bursts.”

Violent bursts when kept indoors. Sam nodded and Dean shot him a look.

“There’s so many of them from the bus,” Lisa trailed off, her tone rising. “There’s not enough room for everyone, there’s so many people and a hospital like this? There’s not enough room—”

“Is there anything more you can tell us?” Sam asked.

The sound that escaped Lisa then was the same kind of sound Sam had heard from so many parents; fathers and mothers all on separate hunts, all somewhere in the back of his brain crying out to be replayed over and over again at night. A sound of heartbreak, pure, unadulterated pain.

He’d seen Dean react to them before, but never like this, though.

He drew Lisa into his chest, cupping the back of her head and holding her. “It’s alright Lise. It’s okay.” Dean’s hand moved up and down her back as he hugged her, her brown bedraggled hair tucked under his chin. Though Lisa didn’t relax it was clear she was used to being held by Sam’s brother.

In the span of a moment Dean’s expression changed, one hand fell away from Lisa, and came up to rub at his temple.

“Sam,” he said, letting Lisa go. “Give me your jacket.” Sam frowned but did as he was told, shucking his jacket and passing it over. Dean tucked it across on harm and faced Lisa. “Lise what’s the room number?”

A nurse stood at the doorway. She caught Lisa’s eye.

She stepped toward her yet spoke to Dean. “22C, take the the turn on the right.”

Dean nodded, and made to turn. Sam stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, unsure until the moment what had prompted him to reach out, something tight in his chest. He saw Lisa follow the nurse out from the corner of his eye.

“M’just getting Cas,” Dean explained, eyes casting out to the parking lot. “Go with her.”

Sam nodded and dropped his hand, making to turn away.

Dean’s low voice stopped him. “Sammy-”

The name came out rough, tinged with a barbed pain. Sam knew what he was getting at, knew was Dean was asking. Didn’t mean there was much hope he could give his brother.

“Ben sounds in a lot better state than a lot of the others,” Sam said, hoping his tone was more reassuring than it felt. “If a whole bus is infected...” he trailed off.

If the whole bus was infected, then Lisa was right; in a place like this, the odds for everyone’s survival dwindled greatly.

Dean pursed his lips, nodded, and rushed out the door.

Lisa held her face in her hands, standing outside the door to 22C, she wiped her eyes when she saw Sam coming, unable to hide her disappointment at seeing him and not Castiel or Dean.

She turned and headed inside the room, Sam followed. He’s expected to see Ben Braden on the bed, expected him to be tended too or at least hooked up to something. But beside the bed was a short circuited heart monitor, displaying a long flat line but giving out no sound, the cords not only loose, but bitten open to expose their wired innards.

A little kid, probably about ten or eleven years old, stood by the window, muttering a long string of animal sounds, grunts and squeals under his breath.

He was infected.

When he started clawing at the window, trying to get outside Lisa seemed jolted into action, running forward and spinning him around to face her by his shoulder. “Ben!”

Ben gave no indication of having heard her. Sam stepped into the room as Lisa rubbed her palm over his forehead. “Ben? Ben, baby? Can you hear me?”

Ben stood still, muttering, eyes rolling from the floor to the walls to the door just behind Sam. Sam came forward, ducking into a crouch beside Lisa. She didn’t let go of Ben and Sam wasn’t about to ask her too, knowing it would be a futile request.

But he did try to look Ben Braden in the eye, he did try to reach out. “Ben--my name’s Sam, I’m here to help—”

Ben jerked in his mother’s arms, shying away from Sam’s outstretched hand. His neck cracked in an obscene way while his head turned toward Sam; who fell back on his heels while Ben’s lips fell still, his mutterings fading into the antiseptic air.

He was rigid as stone, eyes unblinking, mouth slowly opening.

“Lisa step back.” Sam ordered just as Ben punched out with both hands, emitting a long curdling cry.

Lisa fell back onto her hands, Sam restrained Ben with his arms and chest, encircling the boy in a tight hold as he kicked and snarled and tried to bite at him. A sharp heel to Sam’s gut winded him a little, with startling strength Ben wrenched one hand free and managed to sock Sam in the jaw with his elbow whilst flailing.

“Ben!” Lisa cried.

Sam struggled to hold him.

“Leave him.”

That sonorous voice, deep and unyielding. Castiel stepped into the room wearing Sam’s jacket over a pair of nurse scrubs. Dean tailed close behind yet pushed past and into the room, grabbing a hold of Lisa when he saw her on the floor.

Lisa clawed her own way to way to her feet, pushed him aside and stumbled toward Cas. “Castiel! Castiel please…”

Ben struggled and kicked, knocked his head back into the side of Sam’s jaw when he turned his head. Sam swore, couldn’t hold the kid for much longer.

Castiel didn’t even look at Lisa almost begging by his feet. Blue eyes fixed on Ben in Sam’s arms, expression as emotive as stone. “Dean.” Was all he said. Dean stood up and grabbed Lisa’s shoulders, bringing her up. Some unspoken communication passed between them. Dean acting like a puppet to some unspoken command.

“Lisa come on,” Dean said, trying to lead her out of the room, away from Cas and Ben and Sam. “Come on, it’s okay.”

Lisa was crying, looking from Ben to Cas. “I can’t.”

“Cas is gonna fix him,” Dean held her close to his chest, a mix of a hug and restraint. “It’s okay trust me.”

Sam could tell when Lisa acquiesced because Dean tightened his hold on her, leading them out of the room. He offered assurances under his breath, Castiel stepped out of the way to let them pass, coming toward Sam.

Ben stilled in Sam’s arms, returning to catatonia once more when Dean shut the door behind him and Castiel crouched down in front.

“Sam, let him go.”

Sam didn’t. “What are you doing?”

With pinched brows, a downturned mouth, Castiel settled forward onto his knees right in front of them. Ben tensed in Sam’s arms.

“Helping,” Castiel told them. “Let him go.”

A moment. Sam stared across at the spirit and the spirit stared back. He slackened his grip when Ben wriggled, seemingly to build himself back up into another fit.

As soon as Sam let Ben go he fell back, pushed away by some unseen force. With Castiel kneeling, Ben was taller than him, though only just. The kid swayed on the spot suddenly free, picked back up on his sounds and mutterings.

Castiel’s expression smoothed out. Defiance turned to outward curiosity. Perched like a bird he folded his hands over each other, just looked at Ben and said: “Hello.”

Ben whined something animal. Castiel’s brows quirked upward.

“This isn’t a human ailment.” He said to Sam and reached forward.

Every muscle in Sam prepared to jolt forward, to restrain the kid again if he tried to make a move, maybe act against Castiel in the same way if he tried anything threatening. Instead, he watched as Castiel smoothed his hand through Ben’s hair almost motherly, shuffled closer to the boy who’s muttering escalated.

“I’m trying," murmured Castiel, "shhh.”

“Cas?” Sam asked edging forward himself.

Castiel’s eyes didn’t leave Ben’s young face. When he spoke it wasn't to Sam. It was as though Sam wasn't even there. “I’m listening. Speak.”

“Hhhhhhhhhh-”

The first recognisably human sound. Quiet.

Both Castiel and Sam, each of their own accord, leant forward.

Ben’s face contorted, he swayed forward and then went rigid like a pole, mouth working, lips mouthing, eyes frantic about the room.

 _Help_.

Undeniably to both Sam and Castiel a cry for help, but not from his mouth, a cry out in Sam's head.

Castiel’s eyes shifted to a determined glare under the hospital luminescent. Blue flashing briefly to silver. Saying nothing he cupped the back of Ben’s head, tilted his chin back and slotted their mouths together in a kiss.

Sam jolted forward with a revolted yell, intent on pushing Castiel off the kid, the image already burnt into some deep part of him; instant revulsion, instant disgust, but the sudden glow held him back.

A glow, Castiel’s glow, leaving Castiel from his mouth and entering Ben through his.

It sunk beneath Ben’s skin making it almost translucent, black infected veins now starkly highlighted beneath his skin. Once highlighted the veins squirmed, moved grotesquely beneath Ben’s skin like worms, it took Sam a moment to see they were trying to move away from Castiel’s light. Blackness moved upward, rolled through Ben’s throat, fleeing towards his mouth only to instead be sucked into Castiel, who coaxed it in by working his jaw in a way that made Sam deeply uncomfortable.

It was only when all the blackness was sucked into his own mouth that Castiel released Ben’s face and, sat back on his heels and swallowed. His silver eyes sunk, pupils expanded full black before glowing with a blue colour so bright it burned white, made Sam look away tempted to cover his eyes.

He didn’t, and was glad for it. Ben fell when Castiel let him go, and Sam had just enough sense left to grab him and pull the kid close.

In a matter of seconds Ben shifted in his arms, hazel eyes blinking open.

“What, where...” He looked around, saw Castiel hunched on the floor, panting and let out a broken. “Uncle Cas?

Castiel coughed raggedly, and spat something thick onto the floor.

Sam started when the kid blinked up at him, eyes a lighter brown than his mother’s. He looked at Sam and frowned. “Who’re you?”

No infection, no weird behaviour, no contortions. Sam held the kid he barely knew to his chest a little tighter, too slack jawed to even smile, though the feeling of it was there behind his ribs.

“A friend of uh, of uncle Cas’.” He said, only hearing then how quiet his voice was. “You’ve been sick; your mom’s been worried about you.”

Ben blinked and the door to the room opened with a creak. He shifted in Sam’s arms, tiny head turning to the sound so his warm cheek pressed against Sam’s bare wrist. “Mom?” he called out in fear.

The door opened.

Lisa dropped in front of Sam and gathered her son into her arms faster than Sam could really register.

“Ben!” she cried, hugging him close.

Ben blinked again, and his expression darkened, picking up on his mom’s distress, the weirdness the gravity of whatever had happened to him. He shook a little, face turning red. “M-mom?” he repeated voice starting to tremble.

Dean was quick behind Lisa, followed by two nurses who instantly attended Lisa and Ben, helping her to get him back on the bed. Dean shot them a look but fell beside Cas, grabbing hard at his shoulder, he ducked his head so their eyes met.

“Babe?” it was said softly. “Hey Cas, hey…you alright?”

Sam climbed up on his feet and edged over.

“M’Fine.” said Castiel, practically a human shaped lump on the floor. He was breathing heavily, looked a little less inhuman because of it. “Take me to the next inflicted.”

Dean’s grip on his shoulder tightened perceptibly. “Wait, Cas what was—”

“We don’t have a lot of time-” Castiel pressed. He shrugged Dean off, rose up into a crouch “Sam-” he said reaching out a hand, jolting toward him. His pupils were overly dilated, black eclipsing the blue making him look outright alien.

With a glance over to Lisa who was holding Ben and crying, and Ben looking confusedly about at the nurses who tended to him, Sam grabbed Castiel’s wrist and pulled the spirit to his feet. Dean letting them with only a disapproving sound.

“Thank you.” Castiel spoke hushed, mainly with heavy breaths, as though his throat was sore, as though he was having trouble breathing. He was heavy in Sam’s arms, feet shuffling.

Sam said nothing and pretty much dragged him down the hall and to the next room, Dean barely a few steps behind.

  **_____**

 

There had been thirteen people on the shuttle from Burlington Airport to Stowe Vermont. Thirteen people that were infected. Thirteen people Cas healed.

He looked like shit rolled in dirt and served up on one of those cheap and nasty paper party plates - the kind that got soggy with cake - by the time they were leaving the hospital. The three of them exited out the way they had come in, Dean half holding Cas up who moved with sluggish, pained movements. Sam was a little bit behind, had been helping Cas get to each person inflicted while Dean has insisted on holding back.

But Cas didn't listen.

Ben was fine, Ben was okay, but Cas had been determined at, _at_ _sucking_ whatever it was that was in all of them up into himself. Taking all that from each person, and every person after that back conscious and alive and unharmed.

But Cas hadn’t spoken in almost half an hour. Hadn’t opened his eyes in fifteen.

“Cas.” Dean stepped forward, drawing in close to Cas’ side. He looked like he was damn-well about to fall over.

 _Fine._ Cas huffed, making a sound like a wheeze stepping onto the sidewalk. He shrugged Dean off which _hurt_ , really _hurt_ , but not as much as the sight of him struggling to move. _M’Fine, Dean. J-just...home._

Dean wasn't quick enough to catch Cas when he stumbled forward and tripped.

Mid-fall Cas’ change rippled over him. Somewhere between a man and a stag he crumpled against the concrete, blown eyes sliding shut, horns and fur and slickness crawling and shifting up all over his human body, bursting the clothes off of his legs as they changed became spindly yet strong. Sam's jacket split across Cas' broadening chest- the human form too much to maintain.

The world narrowed to a pinpoint for Dean, everything blocked to the periphery when Cas let out a cry then fell silent.  
  
Dean dropped down beside him yelling out: “Sammy!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:** I don't know what it can be called but like maybe disturbing imagery because ~~(in order to heal people Cas has to do something that's a lot like kissing them including Ben Braden who is a child)~~


	12. Chapter 12

**_  
_**

**_Cajun Coffee House, Stowe, Vermont, 2005_ **

****

Months passed.

Dean had friends now, like _plural_.

There was Lisa who invited him to a dinner party with a group of parents from her baby bounce play-group after Dean had fixed her stalled monstrosity of a car. A party Dean had actually attended. It had been fun, weird being the only childless guy there, but there had been a great selection of cheeses. Lisa was a hoot and a little funner than Dean expected of a new mum and he had enjoyed himself more than he thought he would. Had managed to get a few auto jobs out of it too, Lisa swearing up and down to all the other mums and dads that Dean was something of a godsend.

There was Victor who was smart and an ex-con- so Dean felt a natural affinity to the guy. He’d stopped by Pam’s for- some sort of personal session of the psychic variety (though, Dean had to admit, the thought of the two of them together was something really nice in the pants department, but he didn’t think on it long). Anyway, after their session he’d stuck around for a bit, chatted in the living room (Dean spent time in a _living_ _room_ now) staying up to an hour just talking with Dean. It had been, well- also nice, but in a different way.

Apparently there wasn’t much up in the mountains for an ex-military now carpenter to do in his free time,  which was why one day Victor had introduced Dean to Benny, the best goddamned cook he’d ever met. Dean felt something of a kinship with the burly cajun, forged in as little as a few catch ups over lunch and beer, and a promised fishing trip when the weather warmed up. Weeks later he was still confused as to how the hell that had happened, but Pamela assured him that Benny was ‘good people’ even if he was a little rough around the edges, a little quiet. Besides, his coffee house, the Cajun Coffee sold kickass pastries.

Pamela herself was classic, allowing Dean to stay in her spare room and make it his own. She was good for a beer or two in the evenings but also aware enough to leave Dean alone on the days he felt as though he couldn’t get out of bed. Real understanding but not know-it-all, encouraging but not pushy. She was great really, Dean had found, though sometimes her friendly pats were a little _too_ gropey, a little _too_ focused on his ass.

Dean had a strict policy of not ‘shitting’ where he ‘ate’. Besides, he wasn’t entirely sure if Pamela’s advances were anything more serious than friendly jostling.

Damn, between Pamela, Lisa, Victor and Benny, Dean couldn’t help wondering if he wasn’t just trapped in some ‘awesome people’ limbo. Maybe he had died at the foot of that ravine, and was now in some strange hot and friendly heaven. But no, Dean had asked for clarification from Pamela a couple times as to his own zombie status and she pronounced him fit and fine if not a little paranoid- and why shouldn’t he have been, he’d been given the (figurative) kiss of life from a goddamned forest wizard. Were all non hunters this cool? This _easy_? Dean wasn’t sure but he hoped.

So yeah, it had been a couple of months now.

Lisa looked across at him with big brown cow-eyes, cappuccino foam a moustache over her pink upper lip. “Dean,” she said, reaching out to where he was standing and taking his hand. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Dean shifted on his feet, a little pink, a little uncomfortable, despite the obvious teasing. “Shucks Lise,” he joked back as she let go of him and returned both hands to her warm mug, “with compliments like that I’d better tell Matt to be careful, you’ve got a wandering eye.”

He knew Lisa would have snorted if her mouth wasn’t full of coffee. Instead she smiled around puffed cheeks, and hummed once the coffee was swallowed, eyes slipping shut. “I’m serious,” she insisted. “Matt would burn water if I wasn’t watching him like a hawk. It’s like having two friggin babies I swear. Honestly, you don’t give yourself enough credit.”

Dean felt his cheeks reddening and he tucked his hands into his apron. “It’s just hot water, beans and milk.” He said, looking off to the side.

“But it tastes like _heaven_.” Lisa fought back. Another sip, another satisfied hum. She was one of only two patrons in the Cajun Coffee, dropping by as the school day had ended and she had no papers to grade not on maternity leave. If the homework ten year olds did could count as papers- she’d joke when talking about it, but she loved her work, Dean could see that she did. These weekday late afternoon shifts were usually slow, especially in a town like Stowe, so he didn’t mind the distraction.

Lisa set her cup aside, but circled its rim with her finger, licking a little at the foam about her lips. “It’s not charging the beach or protecting the country or anything, but it’s sometimes the little things in life that are important and that you’ve gotta take pride in.” She looked up at him, grinning. “Hospitality’s a battle all of its own.”

Dean shrugged, and rubbed at the nape of his neck. The ex-con cover story, he felt a little guilty at using it but it was better than the truth.

The whole town may have belief in Castiel, something of a Boo-Radley type only mentioned briefly in passing, only invoked if they needed something, but the idea of other supernatural creatures out there- yeah Dean didn’t want to be the one to burst any of those bubbles, let it be known that most of the crap out there wasn’t safe.

Most of the crap out there wasn’t like Cas.

“Yeah, thanks.” Dean said. Shrugged.

Lisa’s eyes lit up at the easy acceptance of praise, almost instantly Dean regretted it. He hated when people looked at him like that, as though it was an achievement that he didn’t correct them when they were wrong about him. As though not being down on himself all the time was something of an achievement.

“Speaking of battlefields,” she began, smile turning coy. Hot, but a bad sign by almost any definition of the phrase. “You need to come to dinner Friday.”

Shit. “Lise, no.”

Lisa held up both palms in a placating gesture. “I promise it’s just casual, just a relaxed get together between friends. Amy’s really excited to meet you.”

“I’m not really in to—”

“You’ve been in this town also three months Dean, looking like you do, utterly single.”

Though her tone was light Dean could sense some real concern there. It made him uncomfortable, unsure of how to take it and what to do with it. He’d made friends here sure, and he’s seen and heard the interest about him floating around, especially from a couple of single school mums, especially from the sorts of people Lisa and Victor and Benny all seemed to know and be friendly with. But Dean had less than no interest, something that rarely translated well to those around him.

Lisa was still going on. “I’ve managed to hold off most of the single moms in this town so far, they all want a piece of you, mystery man.” She raised her eyebrows played at being childish. But upon seeing Dean’s less than keen expression, settled down a bit. “Trust me, Amy’s one of the good ones. She teaches Art therapy for the elderly.”

Art therapy for old folks? Dean smiled kept back a tight and sudden burst of laughter. He was a horrible person.

“Unless,” Lisa edged, a little more caution to her words. “It’s not because you’re not ready but just…not interested?”

Dean quirked a brow. “Not interested?”

“I mean; I’ve just been assuming your preferences. Christ.” Lisa wiped a hand over her mouth and shook her head. She leant back in the plush seat, and carded the fingers of one hand through her hair shifting it out of her face. Dean couldn’t help but notice that she had great, soft looking hair, probably the kind to use fruity shampoo. “I mean; are you even interested in women?”

Dean flushed.

“This is Vermont and everything.” Lisa went on. She extended a hand out to Dean, touching his wrist softly. It was a friendly gesture, Lisa was a casually affectionate person. Dean wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but he liked how she held no expectation. “And you’re ridiculously attractive FYI.”

“I’m interested in women Lise—”

Benny’s voice came from out back. “Dean, order!”

A couple of regulars Dean recognised headed up to the counter. Dean fell back behind the counter and talked with them amicably, frothing their milk, (not as dirty as it sounded) avoiding both women’s unsubtle advances (a little dirtier than it sounded). He could see Benny enjoying the attention, chuckling fake coughs into his hand, calling Dean fresh meat under his breath while Dean made up the drinks with his back to both women.

Dean flipped Benny off before turning around and giving out both beverages, smiling at the women who placed generous tips in the jar.

Benny was right in a way, Dean knew. There weren’t a lot of single men his age hanging about Stowe. Dean _was_ the new meat and something of the mysterious stranger; the cover he’d given about being ex-military was the most authentic cover he could give without being entirely truthful. Explaining enough but not too much, allowing Dean to keep some secrets and some stories to himself. Only Pamela and Cas knew the truth. Dean intended to keep it that way.

He’d never meant to fall into some sort of ‘mysterious stranger trope’ but he had. Pamela said to make the most of it, accompanied that suggestion with a lewd wink. Cas, when Dean complained to him, had just hummed non-committedly and continued grazing. Offering little to no opinion. The guy was a rock sometimes, figuratively _and_ literally.

By the time both women had left satisfied, and admittedly a little flushed by Dean’s charm (he may not be interested but by hell could he turn it on), Lisa was leaning on her elbow against the counter, watching him with expectation.

Woman couldn’t leave a damn conversation thread hanging.

“I’m interested in women okay? And y’know dudes.” Dean said the last a little quiet, even if he was in Vermont, even if he was with friends—he could never be sure who or what was listening in. Hunters could plant themselves anywhere, and weren’t the most accepting of folks.The bunch of them, by virtue of what they were, were used to _acting on_ what they saw as _monstrous_ behaviour.

Which would suck, but it wasn’t like Dean couldn’t defend himself. It was more that the community itself was smaller than you’d think, they’d recognise Dean on the spot as a Men of Letters legacy, as his father’s son. Word could spread, get back to--

Something of Dean’s inner panic must have shown on his face because Lisa made this sympathetic noise, jolted him out of that thought he really didn’t want to finish.

“M’ just not interested in anyone, uh... romantic styles.” Dean explained.

She pursed her lips in an expression that could only be described as disapproval. “You’re not sleeping with Pam are you?”

“I’m not sleeping with Pam.” Dean said, then diverted the conversational track by adding playfully. “Not for lack of trying, I mean.”

Lisa scowled.

“What?” Dean laughed. He took the milk frothing jug to the sink and rinsed it out. “She’s hot.”

Benny butted in from out back, voice layered in amusement. “She’d tear you apart brotha.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed a little dreamily. Lisa made a face, clearly disapproving while Benny just burst out laughing, big comforting gwaffs.

Dean hung back at the counter as the after school crowd started to come in earnest. Lisa took another cappuccino to go, pledged her undying devotion and appreciation to Dean, and asked him to think about Friday. Dean agreed, if only to get her off his back, and explain to her at a later date in a place that was less public about his disinterest in being set up.

Dean fell into the steady stream of customers with ease, only needing Benny’s help a few times for some of the more complicated beverages. He liked the mix of customers, and If it wasn’t for the claustrophobia of being indoors for long periods, and the stationary nature of the job Dean could see himself sticking at this for a long while.

The indoors bit was a killer, though, he thought as he looked out to the sunny late spring afternoon. He preferred being out there, working with his hands -- not necessarily hunting, but doing _something_ , like fixing cars, having that tangible proof in front of him that he was creating or fixing.

Caught up in his daydream, he almost didn’t notice the ash-white sparrow sat at the shop window, looking in. But then Cas tapped on the window with a tiny black beak, and Dean felt his eyes pulled to him.

There were whispers starting around the shop. ' _Is that Castiel? Is that Castiel... What are they doing here?'_

As though on auto pilot, Dean did a quick check of the shop. Seeing everything had calmed down, he untied his apron from around his waist and chucked it beneath the counter. “Uhh, Benny,” he called out, not looking away from Cas who was still staring. “I gotta take my break.”

There was a clanking of metal and things from the kitchen. “Now?”

Dean nodded, forgetting Benny wouldn’t be able to see him. He got around the counter, already reaching for the door. “I’ll be back in an hour ‘kay?”

“Dean—”

The air outside the Cajun Coffee was warm. It took Dean a moment to spot Cas again, he’d flown from the window down onto a bench on the sidewalk, tiny little guy was standing there, toothpick feet gripping the wood.

_Hello Dean._

It’d be funny to hear such a deep voice echoing in his mind, coming from such a tiny little bird if Dean hadn’t of known Cas the way he did. Sometimes he barely registered the change of forms now, Cas was just _Cas._

“Hey Cas,” he said passing by the bench though not stopping, he knew Cas preferred to be in the forest when they spoke. Privacy, and something like security between them, he figured. Something of a home advantage. “We gotta make this job quick alright, I gotta be back in an hour.”

Cas flew close but ahead of him, lightning quick he zipped into the trees across the road and Dean followed. He stopped on a low branch as Dean neared. _I’m pulling you away from something._

There was something in the soft tone that Dean couldn’t recognise off the bat.

Dean shrugged. “Just in the middle of a shift, Benny’s asked me to fill in for Julie, maternity leave you know. Only couple of weeks we think till the kid comes.” He found himself smiling. “We’ve got a pool going.”

Cas chirruped. Hopped on the spot. _I enjoy children._ He said, tone opposite from his birdly nature, sounding no more enthusiastic than if he’d said he enjoyed wet socks.

Course the guy had never worn socks in his life. Half the time he didn’t even have _feet_.

“Not gonna elaborate on that?” Dean asked him.

Cas flew as Dean walked, shifting from low branch to low branch as they trekked deeper into the forest. _They’re… unassuming._ He finally settled on, flying up to a higher branch on a further tree. A white blur amongst brown and green.

Dean knew he was smiling something chronic and cast his eyes to the forest floor. “Whatever man.” He kicked at a loose rock, only because he almost tripped over it.

Though Stowe was a quiet town in its own right, the forest surrounding was even quieter. The tree trunks creating something of a barrier between the noise of the main road and town and something of a hush peace maintained by the canopy and undergrowth.

Earth and twigs crunched beneath Dean’s feet with each step. Every breath tasted a little cleaner, the deeper and deeper they wandered in. Dean searched for Cas in the tree line and asked a little louder so the tiny spirit could hear him. “So what’s the gig, Cas? Picking up more trash, transferring nests from power lines, hosting funerals for road kill?”

Cas dive bombed from a high branch, shot through his own white mist and emerged the other side as the stag landing on the ground with a graceful _plod_.

Impressive. Dean found himself smiling after the guy. He had to admit he had some favouritism for that form- it felt more _Cas_ than any other. Was the first thing Dean had seen Cas as, and he felt, somehow he could read more expression in the white furred face than Cas’ others. “Cas?”

Cas spoke without looking at Dean, but did slow his pace. _I have no pressing duties for today._

Dean caught up to him, tried to catch one of Cas’ eyes. “Oh?”

Cas made a sound through his nose, wet and kind of snotty. _Since your resurrection you’ve done everything I’ve asked, with some enthusiasm even, most humans would not. Most don’t put up with my...presence...for long._

He trailed off.

Yeah, Dean had gotten enough of that impression from the way people about Stowe talked, or rather didn’t talk about Cas.

Cas was close enough for Dean to reach out and touch if he wanted to. Close enough that his shoulder would rub against Cas’s side as they walked. But Dean wasn’t deluded enough to think that Cas wasn’t something wild, was something that would appreciate such a touch. Touch wasn’t something they did readily, outside of those moments Dean had spent trapped in his own head and curled beneath the covers. Cas a warm weight along his side, Cas’s rough tongue offering gentle consolatory licks. His breathing a metronome keeping Dean in rhythm.

Dean tried not to think on those moments too often, for fear of them sinking into his chest and his mind, paralysing him. He didn’t like to be in that space, was willing to do anything not to go back.

A particular bright sun beam fell on Cas’ hide, reflecting off his white fur and into Dean’s eyes.

He blinked, and pulled calloused rough fingers through the short strands of his hair. “Well uh, it’s not all that hard work or anything. I like you, Cas, you’re cool.”

He felt a little heated at the confession, like the world was a little tilted, because he felt as if he’d said too much and had no way of taking it back now. Cas was this huge insurmountable wild thing, and Dean said that he _liked_ _him_?

Cas threw a look at him from over his shoulder. Big doe-eyes and long lashes shining in the sun. Watchful.

_I like you too Dean, I’m not—my kind’s existence is a solitary one. But I enjoy the time we spend together._

Dean hoped Cas thought the heat in his cheeks was just an effect of the sun.

 _This is awkward._ Cas said after the long moment of silence between them. Dean almost laughed out loud, labelling the interaction as awkward only made it that all the more.

But Cas was kind of a loner and despite all his new friends, Dean felt a little bit like a loner too lately. A bit too much in his head. He was unsure if he was even upset at the idea of being alone. It was sort of nice, only having to look out for one, be concerned for only himself.

Besides, being alone wasn’t too bad if he was alone with Cas.

Dean swallowed and sped up his steps a little so he walked along Cas’ side, he had to duck and weave a little to miss the swing of Cas horn’s when he swayed his bulk around a wide tree.

“Nah, it’s well… kinda, but not much.”

Cas gargled sound low in his throat. _This is easier when you’re unconscious._

Again, the times they didn’t speak about. Instead of dread at the comparison, Dean felt a little amused. “Okay that’s creepy phrasing,” He said and Cas looked at him. “But it’s fine.” Dean assured, resisting the urge to place his hand to Castiel’s side. “I like hanging out with you too. Even conscious.” he winked.

Cas made a sound like a snort. _I’m glad._

Dean knew without being able to see it on Cas lips that he was smiling- there was definitely a smile in that tone.

Cas glowed a little bright in the sunlight as they broke into a clearing. Dean had been here a couple of times in his walks and meetings with Cas, but still the sight was pretty awesome. Lunch green grasses, a mix of sloping hill scape, stone and flatter glade. It would be a good place to hang out, maybe for someone to build a small house or something. The space would make someone a good home.

Dean felt restless, like his skin was too tight, clothes suddenly itchy. He pulled his T-shirt up and over his head, now only wearing a tank. He felt the urge to chuck his shirt at Cas who was watching him curiously, but settled for throwing it on a close rock, out of the dirt.

“Come on, I’ve been cooped up inside for almost four hours, an’ got another couple ahead of me. I’ll race you to- to that outcrop over there.” Dean pointed across the other side of the clearing and past the trees. The outcrop about a quarter of a mile off, a decent sprint, a little bit of a hike.

Cas lowered his head to Dean’s level, his furry cheek touching Dean’s wrist as he followed the line Dean’s finger made.

 _You’re being serious?_ He asked with enough scepticism to tranq a horse.

Dean patted the side of Cas' face, his answering grin felt wicked. “Deadly.” He said.

Cas’ answering look was scathing, something which only fuelled Dean’s eagerness.

“Ready?” he asked, and dropped down into position. One foot back, eyes on the ground. He’d done a little track in a number of different high schools before dropping out. Figured he’d learn more in the Men of Letters archives than he’d ever learn in lessons, but still he’d always had the thought being able to run fast and far was an invaluable skill for a hunter. Something track certainly helped him hone.

Cas hadn’t really moved, was just staring down at him. _Dean, I’m significantly more adept—_

“Go!” Dean yelled and jolted forward into a sprint.

The laughter that ripped out of him was elated, childish. That moment of flying for a second there, the best he’d felt in, God, _years_. It only intensified when Cas roared into action, advancing fast on Dean with his lightning gait.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **NSFW!** I hear many of you scream; _finally_
> 
> Check the endnotes for warnings for this chapter. It's a nice long one for you guys, hope you enjoy!

**_  
_**

**Earthly Realm, 2015**

 

The ground shakes, caves in.

A child screams.

**Help!**

 

**________**

 

Awareness rushed back to Castiel like dawn breaking. Earth. Outside. Home. Refuse was being dropped into a lake eastward. A human boy--feeling the hike to the trash at the end of his own driveway was less of an effort than jumping the fence out the back of his home and littering--was running. West, a hermit thrush lay in the grass, with the small scattering steps of ants treading over its cold form. The ants scurried, furiously delighted. They picked apart the creature’s eyelids and its skin, another successful hunt to take back home. There was cool metal beneath Castiel’s bulk, light morning air rippled over his hide. Dean laid against his stomach, breathing steadily. Deep.

Castiel opened the one set of eyes he had in this form and blinked against the early sun, still in the process of rising. Home. He wasn’t surprised to find himself outside the house, his current form too large to bring indoors. Yet it was remarkably touching that Dean had stayed outside with him through the night.

Dean had piled himself under a mountain of fleece blankets, pressed close against Castiel, sleeping sound and easy in a tangle. His features were softened in rest, his hair ruffled and dark against Castiel’s white coat. He smelt like car grease and wood smoke, with just the slight stinging hint of hospital sanitiser.

The memory of yesterday sat heavy in Castiel’s mind. The black that he cradled within himself sat heavier. He felt the urge to scratch at it, examine it but refrained.

Castiel raised his head slowly, taking a moment to fall back into the weight of his current body. He just lay there, ignored the itching ache inside him, because he didn’t want to disturb Dean’s rest.

He must have been so worried.

Tiredness lingered behind Castiel’s eyes. He fought it, snapping to his senses, trying to absorb and take in the brightness and sharpness of his surroundings. The discomfort only lasted a minute before Castiel found himself settling once more into this realm and his place within it. With Dean. Always with Dean.

The black in his gut was a deep ache.

Spirit deep.

Dean shifted, pressed his cheek a little heavier against Castiel’s stomach. Castiel watched him breathing and found the sight healing. Bending his neck low, he began to stroke the hair off Dean’s forehead with his nose, there was a smudge of dirt on Dean’s jaw that he licked away, the affection natural in these quiet moments.

Dean took in a deep, deep breath, filled up his small, human lungs before he let it all go. His hand moved through Castiel’s fur, curled around Castiel’s rump and stayed there. Castiel raised his hips a fraction of an inch to further invite the sleepy petting. Castiel loved these soft exchanges, Dean always more readily affectionate when Castiel was something other than his human form.

“Cas?” Dean whispered, voice a sleep-rough rasp.

Castiel pressed his nose to Dean’s forehead. _You didn’t need to stay with me_.

"I know. Asshole." Dean huffed, turned his cheek into Castiel’s furry side. "Don’t ever do that again m’kay?"

Castiel dipped his head, his nose against Dean’s neck, feeling his breaths. _Okay_.

“I mean it,” fingers curled into Castiel’s hide, tugging hard at his fur.

 _I know_ , said Castiel making sure to accompany the words with equally apologetic sniffs against Dean’s skin. _I’m sorry._

Green eyes light in the morning sun, Dean turned his head up, eyes still squinted with exhaustion. He blinked. "Okay then."  He gave Castiel one last pat, sat up and stretched out both his arms, popping the bones in his shoulders.

Castiel watched him closely, attention sliding along Dean’s spine as it curved. He shifted his forelegs back, while the truck beneath them tilted with a metallic groan. Dean glanced over his shoulder as Castiel adjusted himself into a more comfortable position, legs folded beneath him. They locked eyes for a long moment when Castiel lifted his attention, the silence between them holding its own conversation.

“You okay?” Dean asked after a time, his tone hesitant, fingers finding their way back into Castiel’s fur--this time on his neck--to curl and hold him close.

 _You’re cold._ Castiel grunted, turning his head toward Dean as the man scooted closer to him, but shifted the nest of blankets away.

“You’re warm.” Dean shrugged he wrapped one arm along Castiel’s shoulders.

If Castiel was shaped human he would have smiled.

“Ben and Lisa are fine, all those people in the hospital -- you saved them, then you fainted.” Hesitantly, Dean touched one hand to his chest, then reached out with the same hand and pressed his palm against Castiel’s. “Still can’t believe you could fix all of ‘em, when not even Sammy knew what to do.”

Again, Castiel wished he could smile. To be compared to Sam-- that was something of an accomplishment in the eyes of Dean Winchester.

 _I could help, so I did._ He said, hoping the words would release some of the tension in Dean’s arms. _And I know how important Lisa and Ben are to you._

‘Not as important as you’ the thought flowed unbidden from Dean’s mind into Castiel’s consciousness, and though Dean neither took it back nor acknowledged it, they both knew the truth of the thought. Knew it and let it go.

Castiel let out a soft bellow when he cleared his throat, he needed water. At the sound of his call, the nearby birds fled -- black shapes shot from the trees, flying deeper into the forest.

"Can't take you anywhere," Dean huffed shifting so much that the truck creaked and the blankets tangled about his feet.

 _I’m just surprised that you found such a convenient way of moving me,_ said Castiel, his eyes on the metal bed beneath them.

Dean’s lips quirked a little at the corners. “Benny’s truck, and he and Sam are both big dudes.”

Castiel huffed in both amusement and acknowledgement. He could feel Stowe beginning to stir, people beginning to wake.

Ever so slowly, Dean adjusted his slumped body, stretched his neck upward, eyes still set on Castiel. For a moment, Castiel thought he was about to help lead him off the trailer, but he realised the truth of the movement when Dean’s face lifted to within an inch of his own. Dean’s lips pressed against his cheek, then his muzzle. Castiel blinked and on instinct tried to tilt his head to the side to meet the kiss but his neck was already as twisted as it could be in this form that it didn’t really work.

Fingers slide along the furred line of his face, up to the soft plane of space between antler and ear. Dean kissed Castiel, rested against him and held his face in his hands.

Heated joy thrummed along Castiel’s insides, fighting down the black for a moment and he bucked his head back a little to nudge that touch back behind his ear.

These bursts of affection were so rarely initiated by Dean. Normally he was uninterested by such touches, comfortable when Castiel acted but rarely felt the urge to do so himself-- Castiel knew this yet felt joy in the opportunity to nuzzle and lick at Dean in return. He also knew that Dean would have balked or shied away from the returned affection more readily had Castiel looked human. But now these private touches were given as relief, as assurance. They felt important. Dean was his, the same way that this land was his and that he was Dean’s in turn.

The human had his Heart after all.

Castiel shut his eyes, smiled internally somehow. He had been human too long, if now he thought of happiness in terms of smiles. Dean smelled very good. Castiel could feel the black ache in his core and knew the only thing that would distract him from it was the feel of Dean’s hands on him. Once the thought crossed his mind it was hard to let go.

So he didn’t.

Little huffed groans built in his throat, stoking the heart inside him with the way Dean pressed in close, held him and petted him.

Castiel went a step further, leaning his head down a bit more he rubbed himself all over Dean, huffs of breath, nudges of his nose, and hot little flickers of his tongue everywhere that Dean’s skin was exposed to him. He bent his head low, feeling arms wrap around his neck and bit at the back of Dean’s shirt trying to remove it.

Dean laughed into his neck.

Castiel gave up with a huff and just buried his nose against Dean’s now bared stomach, pushing Dean’s shirt up with his nose. It was a joy to taste the sweeping dip of Dean’s breastbone, where the morning’s sweat still clung to him salty. Dragging his wet nose downward, Castiel lapped at the fine trail of hair leading out of sight-

He fought back the urge to bite or buck his head when Dean pushed his face up and away.

“Sammy’s inside,” said Dean, his strung voice curled deliciously in the morning air, lighting Castiel up.

That was true. Yet, somehow that made this all the better, all the more urgent. Castiel thought about telling Dean that that prospect was not so much a deterrent as it was _titillating_ , this forms instinct urging him on to stake a claim on his mate before others. But his bodies wants were inconsequential to Dean’s wishes. And Castiel was not blind to the way Sam looked at him, how the other Winchester had reacted when Castiel communed with the black within Ben, coaxed the intruder out of him, took it into his own core. Disgust, shock, anger. Sam hadn’t understood then, human hang-ups so ingrained, he wouldn’t understand now. Perhaps never.

Castiel would never allow Sam Winchester to look at Dean the way he had looked at him then.

So Castiel shifted away a little, swung his crowned head around to the sun.

Fur always receded fastest around his face and down the centre of his back, like petals unfurling. Castiel snorted and shook himself out as the change over took him.  He had a blissful moment of enveloping Dean in his misty presence, stroking against every inch of the human with every inch of himself but that was all it was; a moment.

He was a little taken aback to feel the black shift alongside him, change into something almost physical when he turned from spiritual mist to earthly carbon. It spread out like dark fire along, hitting hard in his right shoulder, his thigh the base of his neck. And it spread, even as his muscles bulged and changed beneath human skin, and his body shrunk to twice its size, his limbs shortened, but grew thick and heavy.   

It was cold outside in the morning without any fur but it was also warm under the blankets with Dean. Castiel shook the moments disorientation off, distracted himself by pushing away the black, drinking into the sight of Dean flushed and smiling at him. He purposefully thought of Dean’s possessive hands, his slick tongue and the familiar heavy press of his cock. Arousal was a weapon he could use to keep the black as a non-issue for a little longer, after that then everything would change.

Swiftly, Castiel lunged for his mate, swept him up in a one armed hold before pinning the human to the makeshift bed beneath them. Dean let out a shock of laughter, looking a little mad with his shirt shoved up into his armpits, his cheeks flushed, eyes alight.

Carefree. Castiel would keep him like this for as long as he was able.

“Better?” Castiel asked him, hooking one thigh over Dean’s hips as he mounted him.

Dean placed his hands on Castiel’s chest but didn’t push him away. “Idiot. Sam’s still—”

Castiel bent low and licked a stripe the sweat gathering by the base of Dean’s throat. Across a little ways down his collarbone, before biting at the t-shirt which Dean finally saw fit to remove. He wriggled beneath Castiel deliciously. Castiel hummed his approval and mouthed at the curve of Dean’s protection tattoo, chased the darkly inked lines until he reached one pebbled nipple. His lips caught on the bud rough and Dean let him know he liked it. His hands threaded up into Castiel’s hair.

Smug, Castiel moved back up and found the dark beginnings of bristle on Dean’s jaw with his lips.

"Cas," Dean sighed,  a little desperate.

"Yes?" Castiel replied only half teasing, his cock slip-sliding over Dean's bare belly. Bliss.

Removing human clothes was always frustrating, but with Dean’s help it went quick. In an uncoordinated but tandem effort they pulled Dean’s soft fleece sleepwear, still from yesterday afternoon, down around his knees, his briefs quickly followed.

Want spread through Castiel’s gut and up his spine, hot as fire.

Dean rolled them over and moved them together with purpose. It was hard to find the proper grip for his hands along Dean’s spine so Castiel dropped his hands lower and brushed against Dean’s backside knowing the move would have Dean groaning exactly like that, moving _just—like—that_.

Castiel spread his human legs and Dean settled between him. Finally aligned they slid together with ease and with the help of a spit slick hand. There were arches and gasps on both sides, short aborted thrusts of Dean’s hips, circled upward jumps of Castiel’s. They both groaned and gasped into every touch. Castiel arching under Dean, while Dean beared down, mouth open around a quiet hitched noise.

If they were deep in the privacy and safety of the forest, Castiel knew Dean would allow himself to be much louder.

Bodies locked together they rolled into the middle of the trailer -- which was cold if Dean’s gasp while Castiel was poised above him was anything to go by. Lost in a hot friction Castiel thrust his hips slow and deliberate. A sob of need escaped Dean as Castiel’s thrusting sped up, grew faster, wilder, both their cocks rubbed and bumped and pressed together with no finesse. When Dean’s pleasure reached its peak, Castiel felt the force of his release wet and warm against his human skin. Dean twitched through his own orgasm while Castiel reached down to finish himself off, swiping Dean’s come into his hand to wet his palm. Castiel was quick to finish as always, feeding off of Dean’s pleasure as well as his own.

Human hands were remarkably adept at bringing pleasure.

Spent, Castiel rolled off of Dean and made a move to clean up the mess on Dean’s stomach and thighs, but Dean pushed his eager mouth away, opting instead for the corner of one blanket. Unbidden, a growl curled up from deep in Castiel’s chest, he nudged Dean’s hands off course and instead scooped the last of the mess up with his fingers. Cleaning with purposefully sloppy sucks.

The interest was obvious in Dean’s gaze, but the humour was more apparent.

“Fucking greedy,” he laughed, arms behind his head as he laid back.

To contest the point, Castiel dragged one hand over his mouth and flipped Dean off with the other.

Dean’s sweat in the forest air was a comforting scent. Homey. Dean let Castiel lay back down beside him, their sides pressed together. Contented for a moment, Castiel closed his eyes. Their sweat and remaining dribbles of come were sticky and wet, sliding thick between them, the metal and blankets were cool--though Dean was infinitely more comfortable.

Unfortunately, the comfortable moment couldn’t last.

“I need to speak to Pamela.” Castiel placed a hand on his stomach and felt the black twist. It wouldn’t do well to worry Dean now, not when he could feel the troubled fog of thoughts already returning to his friend’s mind. _Sam, his father, Sam Sam, Home._ But not this home a different one, a home that was more painful for Castiel to think about than the black.

“This--what’s happening, it’s too much for a few mere humans to deal with.”

Dean nodded, slow but purposeful. “We gotta help him.”

Of course Dean was thinking of Sam.

Castiel carefully controlled his tone. “I thought you already were?” he asked.

Dean lifted one brow, took his arm out from behind his head so he could sit up on one elbow. He turned on his side to face Castiel. “I won’t let this case wreck what we’ve got going here.” He said looking across at Castiel. “This is a good life and it’s _my_ _life_. But Sam—”

 _He’s important to you. I know he is,_ said Castiel without speaking.

Dean huffed, sat up, and grabbed at his fleece pants, pulling them up over his hips.

Aloud Castiel spoke: “he’s your brother.”

Dean shifted up onto his knees, crawled across the trailer to grab at his discarded shirt. “Yeah-uh and y’know after Ben and Lisa—”

“I know. I understand.” Castiel spread his fingers out over the trailer bed and found it a little unsettling that he couldn’t feel the earth through the metal. “You have my heart. I’d follow you anywhere.”

Dean rolled his eyes but he looked to Castiel with an inch of softness before he grunted and shook out his arms, looked down then zipped up his fly. “S’good to have the backup,” Castiel could feel the emotion behind the words, read the implicit thank you between them. Dean looked at him then, green eyes earnest like a spring storm.

“Just the one case.” He said. Voice firm.

Castiel agreed slowly. “Just the one.”

Dean nodded. “I promise.” He leant forward. And in a move that surprised Castiel kissed him swift and light. Just a press of lips to lips, the slightest part in them, but no permission for more.

Though Dean initiated the kiss Castiel was the one to break it when he felt Dean’s discomfort beginning to emerge.

His human lips tingled at having been kissed so sweetly. His heart beat a little faster. Perhaps they didn’t have to leave, they could stay here and lay together--

The corruption inside pulsed.

“Cas?”

Castiel blinked, fixed his attention on Dean who was looking at him, expression grave.

“M’serious alright,” said Dean. “Don’t—don’t you ever do that hospital shit you did, without talking to me about it first. We’ve gotta have each other’s backs alright? Always.” Castiel swallowed, the blackness stirred, suddenly nauseous, he looked out at the forest and sought calm in its whispers.

Dean inclined his head, lowering his chin and forced Castiel to meet his eye. “We clear?”

“Of course.” Castiel answered, returning the look.

Somehow it hurt all the more to see the lines of worry and concern smooth out so quickly from Dean’s features.

He just trusted Castiel that much.

“Right.” Dean slapped his thighs, and pulled himself up to his feet. He gathered up one of the less soiled blankets and tossed it over Castiel’s lap. “Come on. Before Sammy gets an eyeful or something.”

 

_________

 

Sam Winchester was sitting at the breakfast table when Castiel and Dean entered. His aura--a burnt orange sheen--fizzled and spat when his eyes lifted from the laptop in front of him, slid over Dean, and settled on Castiel.

“Hey-a Sammy,” oblivious, as he often was, Dean passed into the kitchen and padded across the linoleum floor. “Gonna have a shower, then we’ll head.” He smiled at Sam who smiled in turn. Castiel crossed toward the refrigerator, pausing when he heard from Dean; _You in for a second round partner?_

Castiel glanced up and saw Dean waiting for him, expectant, still a little flushed. A very tempting offer. Castiel shook his head. “You go on.”

Sam sat at the table, obviously pretending not to look between them.

Castiel watched Dean bite at his bottom lip then shrugged. “Your loss, hot stuff.” He smirked then padded steadily out of the room.

With Dean a little further away, the corruption inside twisted about Castiel’s gut, pulsing like a burn. Wincing with clenched teeth, he leant more heavily against the open refrigerator, remembered there was no soy milk so he closed it swallowing sour annoyance. The coffee pot was still full, warm enough that the coffee Castiel poured slowly into a pale floral mug warmed his fingers through the ceramic.

Coffee was humanity's greatest invention. Coffee and sexual lubricant.

“How are you feeling?”

Sam Winchester. Castiel turned, mug to his lips. He swallowed. The boy was still here. He was asking a question.

“Fine.” Castiel answered, the word coming out a little rawer and abrupt than he had planned. He schooled his expression into something smoother.

Dean had told him many years ago people could often tell when he was trying too hard to smile- his human face not falling into the expression naturally, his eyes looking pained. It seemed Sam would easily pick up on this too, so Castiel didn’t try to force it.

“Thank you.” Castiel said, then raised his mug from his lips to between them. “Coffee?”

Sam held up his own mug, surely cold by now if the amount of scribbling on the notepad beside him were anything to go by, and took a purposeful sip.

Castiel gripped his coffee in hand then sat at the table opposite. Sam started a little and shuffled his papers around, shifting his laptop to the side. His glances at Castiel were wary. Castiel in turn took the moment to cast his eyes over him. He didn’t look like Dean, not in any obvious way, but the mannerisms were there even after so long. They’d grown and developed so close together even after a decade their bond was clear.

Sam’s aura was strong, but his thoughts…eyes narrowed, Castiel glared at the space at the dip of Sam’s throat a little lower against his breastbone.

“That’s quite the amulet you have.” He noted, gaze locked on the Hunter’s chest, at the amulet hidden beneath his shirt. An amulet to block mental intrusions, not the most polite of artefacts. “Practically archaic.”

Sam raised a hand to the amulet, looked Castiel in the eye. An expression flashed across his features, too quick to read. Without looking away, he reached inside and revealed the old item, strung around his neck with blessed cord.

Hazel eyes met blue. Castiel had to give the human credit. He was brave.

“The Men of Letters Bunker is full of useful items,” said Sam.

“Stolen items.” Castiel sipped at his coffee. The corruption stirred.

Sam frowned across at him. “I tried to give Dean one earlier—”

Castiel snorted, at least the boy was honest.

Sam shifted in his seat, almost awkward and smoothed one hand over the amulet. His aura grew a little pink about his head, “But he didn’t want it.”

It was hard then not to smirk at that. Castiel kept his expression blank, something inside purring momentarily dulling the aching. Dean didn't mind Castiel's presence brushing against his mind, it was nice to have that fact once again confirmed. Pleased, Castiel directed some of that warm sentiment in Dean’s direction and was met with a distracted _hmm_ from the shower. He didn’t bother to answer.

“I’m not sure it would have worked, even had he taken it.” He gestured at the amulet with his mug.He felt it pulse a little when he met Sam’s eye again and tried to peer into his head. “I’m inside your brother Sam, that’s a kind of bond that is hard to sever.”

Sam’s eyes darted away, “By _inside him_ , you mean-”

Castiel set his mug aside. Maintained what was known as a ‘poker face’. “I am. Literally. Often.”

Sam glared, a hardened thing on a soft face. “You know that’s not what I mean--”

Castiel’s expression didn’t even twitch. “Do I? After all, it’s not as though I can read your thoughts.”

There was a moment of mournful silence and then, Sam’s lips parted on a wobbly breath. Remarkably, he began to laugh.

“Woah,” he exclaimed all in one sound. Shaking his head, Sam leant further back in his seat, carded one hand through his hair, blew out another breath then looked Castiel over with an appraising eye. “Okay, okay. _Now_ I see it.”

Castiel blinked. “See what?”

“You and Dean.” Sam answered, eye on Castiel then eyes on the table. He spoke a little softer. “Why he loves you.”

There was a response there, somewhere. In the moment it escaped Castiel, curled out from beneath his human tongue and evaporated into the thin air. He could shift, change his form and draw the words back, sew them to his core with newly human fingers but what then? The words themselves would be a pale shadow of what he meant to communicate, what he wanted Sam Winchester to understand. Verbal language was a poor translation. Corrupted Castiel’s intention, his _voice_.

He eyed Sam’s amulet disdainfully, and resolved within himself--that if not for his own peace of mind than for Dean’s--to reach such a place with the younger Winchester that he didn’t feel the need to wear such an item.

That or, much more efficiently, Castiel could rip it from around his neck.

“He does.” Castiel said finally, the words coming slow off his tongue, as though his form knew he shouldn’t be speaking of Dean in this way, least of all too Sam Winchester. “As he does you, as family. He’s missed you Sam, and thought of you often. I know he regrets cutting off contact.”

Upstairs Dean was humming, happy. Lathering his body with hot water, sudsing his skin with soap. Castiel ached in an entirely different way then, rose from his seat at the table and took his mug to the sink.

“He regrets it?” Sam asked, eyes on the table, his aura shifting. Castiel repressed a frustrated sound; why was it so hard to read him. Even without the amulet Sam Winchester was impossible. “Doesn’t seem like that’s the case, _Cas_.”

“You judge him too quickly. You don’t know—” Castiel cut himself off. Sam looked up at him with hazel eyes.

“Don’t know…don’t know what?”

 _You sure you don’t want in on this?_  came Dean’s voice, smug and sultry. He was touching himself.

Utterly insatiable human. But Castiel wouldn’t deny him.

“Castiel?”

Sam would be there at the table when they returned, Castiel had no doubt. He’d just found his brother after years of separation, had been drawn so deep into this case that Castiel could see it seeping out of him like an infection of the spirit. Probably not the best analogy given the circumstances, yet there was little Castiel could do to amend that. Or at least, little he _cared_ to do. Human’s were easily obsessed and Castiel always left to play the role of watchful voyeur.

“ _Castiel_?” Sam pressed.

 _Cas_ \--Dean sighed on a broken moan.

Castiel walked out of the kitchen and away from Sam without saying anything. His actions speaking louder than his words ever could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:** Explicit sex (Dean/Cas) Cas is in his human form for the sex part but very inhuman for the foreplay. Also exhibitionism and a little come-eating. You've been warned.
> 
> Also again, Winchesters keeping secrets and being generally non-communicative. I mean this is why we watch Supernatural after all...right...right?


	14. Chapter 14

**_  
_**

**Pam’s House, Stowe 2005**

 

_You are trying my patience Dean Winchester._

Dean smiled down at Cas who stood on all fours by his side. He was holding back a laugh at the way Cas’ tongue lolled out, more like a dog than a wolf.

“Come on Cas, do it.” Dean held the sloppy slice of rhubarb pie in his hand, ignoring the way the deep red filling seeped out between his fingers, slopping onto the floor. Cas would clean it up later, it would be fine. He smirked, and jiggled the pie a bit. “Sit.”

Cas’ wolf eyes narrowed on the food, a stunning blue against his white fur. A low growl, all talk and no real bite, rolled out from between his thin lips.

Dean felt his lips kick up in an unbidden grin. It was hard not to laugh at Cas petulant tone. He wriggled the pie piece a little. Cas’ eyes followed it and when a bit more slopped down to the floor he whined, a high animal sound, not moving an inch as he awaited Dean’s offering, but looking like he very much wanted to.

"Come on man, it's just _sitting_."

 _You said you would share_. The spirit rumbled back.

Dean couldn’t hold back the laugh this time, he rocked back in his chair. “And I will if you just—”

Cas’ head turned away as his ears twitched. In the next moment the front door was opened and kicked shut in the same breath. Pamela wandered into the kitchen, humming until she saw Dean and Cas by the table. Her eyes widened a moment, took in the scene, some feeling flittered across her face, but she swallowed, and the moment was gone.

“Am I—” her tone was at first tense, only sinking into her low flirtatious drawl as she kicked off her boots and padded further into the room. “Interrupting… _something_?”

The undercut to her suggestive tone and Cas’ sudden tenseness flew completely over Dean’s head.

“Hey Pam.” He welcomed, smiling bright.

 _Pamela._ Castiel intoned a little more stilted than a minute before. He sat.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Just cos I was asking huh? Jerk."

Cas barely glanced at him and snorted a hot, purposeful breath out of his nose.

The two pairs of blue eyes locked on each other, Dean felt the moment pass by but thought nothing on it. The pie in his hands was becoming a great sloppy mess. With a little grimace he dropped the handful on the side of his plate with a splat, wiped his hand on the nearby paper towel then reached over for the knife again. Cas deserved better than mushed up pie anyways.

“I didn’t even know you were here Castiel,” said Pamela easily. Her eyes slid over the two of them, paused on the pie box in front of Dean. “Is that pie?”

Dean cut another careful slice. A lot bigger than the last, Cas had a hell of an appetite in this form. “Yep.” He smiled.

“It’s nine o’clock in the morning.”

“It’s from Yesterday. It’s _breakfast_ pie.” Dean set the pie slice on his knife and lifted it from the box carefully.

He could hear the rhythmic slapping of Cas’ tail against the kitchen lino. Even sitting back on his ass as a wolf Cas was almost as tall as Dean in the chair. His shoulders wide and hunched, his fur white and fluffy. Cas, fluffy, ha. Dean smiled inwardly at the thought.

"Want some Pam?" he asked.  
  
Pam blinked and said no, but Cas padded to his side, and sat closer.

 _Dean—_ he insisted showing a flash of large canine teeth.

“Yeah yeah I got you buddy here—” Dean slid the pie slice into his palm and offered his hand.

Cas leant forward and with a couple wet swipes of his tongue scooped the pie slice into his mouth, rumbling in contentment. He licked and smacked his lips, tongue lolling out to lick his nose as he threw his head back and swallowed. Dean watched him and had to laugh, particularly when Cas straightened, eyes bright, and bumped his wet nose into the centre of Dean’s palm. Cas’ tongue was rough but not unpleasantly so. It worked along Dean’s fingers, twisting between them, sucking up the pie crumbs and juice stuck to his fingers. Even after Dean’s hands were clean of the sticky food Cas kept licking, little contented huffs from his leathery nose, breath warm and wet against Dean’s fingers.

Dean snickered and pulled away. It tickled. He sank his now clean but slobbery hand into Cas’ fur, ruffling it as he patted his head. Admittedly he’d gotten used to Cas in his form now, one of only a few Cas could take when indoors. He smirked down at Cas, hearing a rumbling vibration start up in Cas’ chest, rumbling up Dean’s fingers, his arm into his chest.

It was only when Pamela cleared her throat that Dean remembered she was there.

“You know Cas hasn’t ever had pie?” he said. Kept petting Cas as he looked up at Pam. Cas made a sound when Dean went to stop, nudged his hand up against Dean’s palm, coaxing him on. Dean relented. “Hell, he’s never even had a _burger_.”

Arms across her chest, Pamela leant against the door frame. Her eyes were on Dean’s hand, lips a little thinner than normal. “Real shame.”

Dean parted his fingers through Cas’ thick fur, feeling the wideness of his skull, the shape of his face as his fingers curled around Cas’ jaw to his throat. “Ain’t it just?”

Pamela turned her back on them, headed for the bench. "Mmm."

The shift in the room was too subtle for Dean to notice.

At once his fingers flexed in empty air. Castiel had ducked out from under his touch, eyes now on Pam, his purring rumble was gone. _I should go._ He said to both of them yet neither of them, already making his way out of the room.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. He tucked his free hand into his lap. “Forest calling ya?”

Cas gave a quiet grumble which sounded to Dean enough like a yes for him not to press.

Dean watched Cas pad across the room, then fell into the urge to get up out of his seat and follow. As it was, he just got out of his seat, palms on the table. “We still good to meet up after my shift yeah?”

Pamela shut the cupboard door audibly, Dean could feel her gaze on the side of his face.

 _Of course._ Cas answered then looked at Dean over his shoulder. _I’ll wait for you._

A tightness Dean hadn't even realised was there in his chest, eased. He nodded and Cas held his eyes a moment before looking away.

Pam crossed the room, standing behind and over Cas. “Goodbye Castiel.” she said.  
  
Dean frowned but she wasn’t watching him.                           

 _Pamela._ Cas bid her farewell, sloping out of the room, his massive bulk swaying with his steps.

Pam followed him out, opening and closing the door behind Cas as he left. By the time she came back Dean had finished putting the pie back in the fridge, cleaning the knife and fork and his plate. He left his hands till last and only rinsed them in the water and dish soap, wasn't like Cas had any diseases or anything that needed the sanitiser Pam was so anally fond of.

“Not hungry?” Pamela asked him, coming to the fridge she eyed the pie but went for a beer, only the one which she uncapped with expert ease.

“Figured I should have something proper to eat.” Dean said down to his wet hands. He dried them off on his shirt, leant back against the sink.

Pamela hummed, took a pull of her beer. “Benny says you’ve been hanging out with Castiel a lot after work.” She sat down at the opposite side of the table, pulled one knee up to her chest, looked across at Dean with pretty blue, but hesitant eyes. For a psychic she was surprisingly unguarded. “And Mr Barlett—”

“You got something to say, Pam?” Dean braced his hands back against the sink and stood up a little straighter. “Cos you can just say it.”

“Castiel isn’t like us, Dean.”

A response hit hard and fast. Dean’s fingers curled against the bench, he let go and shoved his hands into his armpits, crossing his arms over his chest. “What?”

Pamela just looked at him for a beat. When she did speak it was slow, purposeful. “He isn’t human, hon. I mean Castiel...he’s...” she dropped her foot to the floor and leant more heavily across the table, elbows planted in the wood. “Look, Dean. I’ve been dealing with spirits since I was five years old.” She took a long pull of her beer. Dean glanced at the fridge. “And if there’s one thing I’ve learnt, in _all_ these years, it’s that you can’t treat them how you’d treat any one of us.”

Dean knew this, he did. What did Pamela think he was, an idiot? “Look Pam, I get it. Cas is about as inhuman as they come. I get that—”

Pamela cut him off. “He’s not a pet either.”

That stopped Dean’s retort in his throat.

Two more gulps of her beer. Pamela closed her eyes a moment seeming to savour the taste.  They weren’t as blue as Cas’, nowhere near close. But it didn’t take a lot. He’d found himself more and more lately trying to imagine what Cas would look like human. How he’d sound, how’d he act. Would he even really be Cas at all? Dean wasn’t sure. There were little bits of Cas that seemed to change with every different form he took. As a stag he was more otherworldly, softer spoken, as a wolf he was (oddly) more approachable, more affectionate. As the elements, as plants and trees and one time a tiny sapling, there was a protective element there in Cas that Dean felt enveloped inside, he felt _safe_ \- taking flight as a bird Cas always seemed a little more manic.

With a human body and human voice would Dean still be able to see Cas somewhere under all that? How much would he change, could he even change to that at all.

“I’m glad you’ve grown close.” Pamela started again, breaking Dean’s reverie. “Really, I’m glad you feel as though you have someone that you can talk to. You're- you're so much happier Dean right? Better? And that's got something to do with Cas right? what he can do for you." she blew out a tired breath, pinched the bridge of her nose with two fingers. "I feel like some kind of friggen’ _mom_ having to be the one to remind you that you should be a little more careful.”

That was... Dean blinked. “Careful of Cas?”

Eyes on the table, Pamela swallowed the last of her beer, having worked her way through the bottle quick. She slid the other across the table, an invitation. “I was eight years old when I met Castiel. The first time,” she rolled the empty bottle in her hands, picked at the label with long, clear coated fingers. “When you live here, you grow up hearing about the spirit in the woods. The guardian who’s here to help us, the spirit that’ll protect us. But those stories are like fairy tales, painting something that’s all grey and complicated into black and white reasoning.” Pamela looked up then, expression grave. “Castiel isn’t here for us.”

Slow, almost hypnotised, Dean moved from his place at the sink, kicked out the other chair at the table and lowered himself into it. A shaking feeling started up in his hands at Pamela’s tone. He dug them into his pockets, carefully watched the woman before him.

“Castiel saved me from a house fire, a freak fire, faulty electricity, power surge, a lightning strike or something- authorities still don't know, just one spark enough to set my whole home ablaze. Everything was destroyed in minutes.” she spoke in a soft detached way, how survivors spoke of loss and tragedy when it had happened to them long ago. “My dad, he was a good man, a logger and son of loggers. At the time he was advocating an increased revenue stream for the town. He wanted to expand the mill and the forestry. The best way to do that was to start using the surrounding forest. _Castiel’s_ forest.”

Dean wasn’t as dumb as people often mistook him for. The pieces slid into place, one awful thread of truth succeeding the last. The picture Pam painted far away from something beautiful. His next words hurt his throat when he spoke them. He dragged his hands out of his pockets and set them on the table, ignoring the way they ached.

“You think Cas killed your dad.” It wasn’t really a question.

A painful, pregnant pause filled the kitchen. Pamela stared him in the eye, expression not moving one iota. Though she was the first to look away, Dean felt his stomach plummet somewhere around his shins.

“I don’t know Dean, I don’t— He was there, he was there _so fast_ and he saved me. But my dad still died. And with him, the threat to the forest. All talk of the idea, gone.” Pamela shook her head. Reached over for Dean’s untouched bottle of beer and took it for herself. She worked her way through it only speaking when she’d already drained half of the brew. “I’m just asking you not to forget the reality of what Castiel is. Of what he may be capable of. He’s not a pet, he’s not human. He doesn’t play by our rules and that’s the way it has to be.”

Dean jumped at the soft touch of Pamela reaching across the table and brushing his closed fist with the tips of her fingers. “I just want you to be careful.”

Dean bit back the words in his throat that tasted acidic. Slow, eyes on the table top, he nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:** Burgeoning angst/conflict...


	15. Chapter 15

**_  
_**

**Stowe, Vermont, 2005**

  
Cas was practically a skipping Bambi by the time Dean met him in the forest after work. Dean watched him tred across the meadow grass, missing crushing the flowers beneath him just by pure chance, almost as though he was stepping _above_ the ground. Every tred and movement looked fairy-light, despite his massive size. There was an ageing layer of lichen growing across Cas' antlers, some twigs and leaves caught up in the massive thicket, but Cas seemed unbothered by his general disarray, trotted up to Dean and lowered his head to Dean’s level, giving his throat a quick nuzzle _hello_ before Dean could even stop him.

 _Do you remember the Northern pintails we saw last month?_  Cas asked straightening. He swung his head around, his ears flicked. One hoofed foot pawed almost impatiently at the ground.   _They’ve hatched, you must come see it; the children are very healthy._

Cas was massive, huge. He could easily have the power of lightning, could probably short circuit electricity with his mind alone. In the last couple of months Dean had seen him do some pretty amazing things, there seemed to be no limit to his power. There was room across his shoulders and back to carry several men easily, let alone one man and his ten-year-old daughter. Even then, if he wasn’t able to carry both Pam and her dad to safety in this form, he could have changed into something else and saved them both.

He could have.

Dean’s saliva tasted sour in his mouth, it was hard to swallow.

_Dean?_

Cas was standing a little closer now, close enough that if he leant down fully, Dean would be able to feel the creature's panting breaths on his face.

Cas’ head was cocked to one side, as though his own antlers weighed him down unevenly.

Dean took a step back, then another, his feet numb. “Pam, uh, Pam told me about how you guys met.” Birds shifted in the trees as the wind picked up. The forest quivered, light receded. It was late afternoon and the clouds rolled in quick, unnaturally beginning to blot out the sun.

An answer in and of itself. Dean stared at the earth beneath his boots, feeling like he couldn't breathe. “Is it true?”

The meadow was too much of an open space. Cas looked very large in the emptiness. He only loomed larger when he took half a step forward, stopped an inch from Dean’s face, then swept his head around toward the tree line, looking at something Dean couldn't see.

_I did what I had to._

The words were more than a punch, it was as though someone had reached inside Dean’s chest, cracked a couple of his ribs, and tried to scoop up what was inside by swirling their hand like a fork in spaghetti.

Emotion came out of him in a rush.

“You killed a guy, you killed Pam’s _father_ .” The shock was only just settling, the anger surged. When Dean took a few more steps back, a few more steps _away,_ Cas made no attempt to close the distance. The back of Dean’s neck prickled with sudden adrenaline. The feeling he got before running off for a hunt.

Cas voice sounded quiet, even in Dean’s own head. It didn't sound right, it didn't sound human. Dean wondered if it ever really did. 

_I did not murder Richard Barnes. I just—made no attempt to save him._

It was amazing how Cas’ expression didn’t change at all in saying that. His hushed tone, the easiness with which he’d offered that information crept up Dean’s spine like a bad kind of chill. Yet grew hot in the base of his neck, burned out his chest, added fire to his words.

“Yeah, cos-cos that’s better. Guy wants to cut down a couple of trees and you let him burn to death.”

Castiel snorted then. _You’re overreacting._

“Right.”

Cas stepped forward, and Dean turned rigid, skin feeling as cold as Cas’ tone. _Richard’s death saved thousands of lives that night, millions._

“What?” the question was merely a sound catching in Dean’s throat.

Often when Cas tried to explain things, he did so slowly, with gravity, as though every inch of what he has to say was vital. It was no different now, but instead of comforting or hell, even enlightening, it just made Dean’s skin feel oily, made his bones itch.

_One human life is not worth the millions of other lives residing here. That’s my purpose, that is what I am here to do. Keep balance, keep the peace, protect and serve._

“So you let a guy die to save a couple birds and bugs?”asked Dean pacing now. “Christ Cas, do you even care about this town at all? About _Pam_? Fuck, I kept bringing you into her house—”

_You’re reacting with human emotion to a situation that cannot afford that kind of thinking._

“You can’t just let a guy burn to death! And walk away with a clean conscience!”

_Why can’t I?_

Dean froze rigid for a second. His boots sunk into the soft earth. His chest was hurting; this weird twisting, tight and painful. His nose had started to sting.

 _You’re coming from a place of human morality Dean._ Cas’ voice was loud, too loud in Dean’s mind, frustration lacing his words, he sounded like _Dad,_ and had started pacing as well. _Humans ideas, human concepts. This is hard for you to understand I know. But Richard’s sacrifice saved lives._

“Because he was just another human to you right?” Dean turned his face away, and closed his eyes, fighting against the tightness in his throat that’s making it hard to breath. “It’s not like he had family, had friends a friggen daughter- people who would miss him if he was gone? People who _needed_ him.”

Cas’ tone was flat and despondent. _What happened to Richard Barnes is not the same as what happened with your mother._

Dean spun, and if Cas was human, Dean would have punched him right in the face. “Don’t fucking talk about her.”

Cas stepped back with a bellow, swayed his head as though he was shaking it. _Why must it always be this way with you? Why can you humans never see the bigger picture?_

Dean fought back. “If you hate humans so goddamned much, then why the fuck did you save me?” He snarled.

 _I was asked to,_ Cas snarled and there it was the break in his demeanour. Everything but his voice in Dean’s head went quiet. _I had no intention of sparing either of you, but she asked it of me, she asked me to spare you, that last shred of humanity remaining begged for me to end her suffering, and to alleviate yours._

Susan Meyers, 19, missing 1998, turned Wendigo. Dead. Dean still had all her papers in his room. The information he'd managed to scrounge up—research for a hunt but he hadn't been hunting. It _hurt_ , and sometimes Dean took the article out and just looked at it. He couldn’t reconcile the image of the Wendigo with the girl's her smiling face.

And Cas had let her die too- let her die in place of Dean?

“Fuck.” Dean slammed his fist at the air, wanting to just hit something. “Fucking. Fuck.”

_Dean—_

“Are you even any different than the other things I've hunted?”

Cas bared his teeth, something like a roar and a snarl curling over his lips. _You are acting like a child._

“M’acting like a _human,_ Cas. Because this kind of shit matters.”

Castiel hissed at him and it was only a shred of something that kept Dean from snapping back.

“You’re the same damn thing I’ve been brought up to hate. The same fucking thing I started hunting at eighteen. You're Dad just looking different. Hating things the same way-God I’m an idiot.”

And it hit Dean then, why Cas refused to turn human—when Dean knew he would be able to—why Stowe and even Benny didn’t talk about him and when they did it was hushed. Cos Cas killed, cos Cas was just another big bad, he tricked Dean into caring for him. Cas _hated_ humans, and Dean had been too blind to see it. This—this reveal had tainted everything from the last few months. The hollow space in Dean’s chest was filling up with anger.

When Cas spoke his voice was still angry, but no longer a roar and somehow that was so much worse. _I don’t understand why you’re reacting like this?_

 _Dean-_ John’s voice there, or at least the memory of it in his head, yelling alway yelling- _why do you never do what I ask?_

The anger splintered and dissolved into pain, something deep and frozen and old and it bubbled up. Dean felt it claw up his throat…

“Because you shouldn’t just get to kill things and hurt people because you think it’s right _dad_.”

Dean realised what he had said almost as soon as he had said it.

Cas stood there, like a literal deer in headlights. Yet said nothing.

When Dean’s legs came out from beneath him, he hit the ground hard. Sitting on his ass, back bowed, head in his arms.

He closed his eyes, the tightness in his chest squeezing until it was hard to breathe.  “—Oh god.”

His heart thudded, blood pulsed in his ears. Like a storm whirling around in his head, all earth, darkness, and damp, musty air. Like when he died, like when he left Sam. Dean choked, and he snapped his eyes open.

“H-holy shit. Cas—” Dean saw something flash across his friend's features, thought it distress, or guilt or just anything. Cas folded down to sit beside him and was utterly still, turned towards Dean, eyes gently lidded.

“Fuck, I’m so messed up.”

 _Don’t speak like that._ They were almost touching. Castiel's breath warmed Dean's face, didn’t smell like anything, it barely was anything, it was like he was barely there. _You’re human._

“That doesn’t exactly rate high in your estimation does it?” Dean muttered hoarsely.

 _Dean._ Cas waited a beat. Waited long enough for Dean to glance at him. _You are...the best kind of human._

Cas’ voice was faded and tired, but it had a note underlying it that Dean couldn’t read, and all at once Cas was Castiel again, this huge insurmountable thing, his age shining through in his words. His otherness. When Dean twisted his neck to look at him, blue-eyes held him, blue eyes with shadows, blue eyes that were _old_ \- there was so much _more_ there, why had Dean never noticed that before?

 _You are contradictory, and erratic and patient and kind. You care so much for so many things that don’t really matter- you are,_ Cas cocked his head and looked out at the woods. _Beautiful. You’re beautiful Dean._

Dean’s next breath came out in a hiccup.

 _I’ve hurt you,_ Cas went on in a whisper. _I didn't intend to. I haven't--I'm sorry._

Dean shifted his legs up to his chest, turned his cheek onto his knee facing Cas. It was weird how they’d just look at each other right?. Like now. Cas was meeting his gaze head on, that instantaneous connection snapped into existence between them. Dean could remember so clearly when he was unnerved by Cas’ stare, what seemed like such a long time ago, when Cas had still been strange and alien and huge, something to be feared and not trusted.

How’d that change?

If asked, Dean wouldn't be able to pinpoint exactly when Cas changed, he changed. Did he change? Suddenly thinking Cas’ tasks soothing, the spirit’s presence a comfort, seeing him and smiling like a knee-jerk reflex. When thinking of Cas as, hell, almost family became as easy as breathing.

When did that change?

Cas’ nose was wet against Dean’s cheek, a strong push and a swipe across Dean’s brow, his muzzle smoothed over the skin beneath his eye, Cas’ fur against his skin, his lips.

What even were they now?

Dean blinked, feeling cast adrift, thrown for a loop and having no idea of the appropriate response to the nuzzling touches and gentle nudging.

Cas’ eyelashes fluttered as he leant in fully and so slow...painfully slow...pressed his wet nose and furred mouth against Dean’s lips in a kiss.

Oh.

Cas’ tongue slide against Dean’s lips just briefly before Dean felt it hot on his chin, his jaw, his earlobe, Castiel nudged Dean’s head into a dip and licked at his throat, small huffs and grunts as he buried his face in Dean’s shoulder. Fur against skin.

Oh...oh _no_.

“Please stop.” Dean choked, shame making his voice crack.

Cas pulled back, but even then Dean also shoved him anyway. It happened in less time than it took to blink. A rough animal sound, Dean’s shove hitting Cas in the face and his neck.

Dean jerked upright and stumbled into something of a step, this first step stumbled into the next and then the next, it was so easy from there to start running.

_Wait! Dean—_

Dean hadn’t let anyone kiss him since he was nineteen. If what Cas had done could even be _called_ a kiss.

_Dean, please—_

His head was screaming so loud he couldn’t even figure out what his own mind was saying. _No, stop, Cas._ He squeezed his eyes shut, kept bolting. “M'sorry.”

_Dean!_

Was it possible to shove Cas out of his head? Dean didn’t know but he thought he managed it; thrown something up in there and now Cas wasn’t speaking, only the sound of a bellowing roar, but he wasn’t running after him.

The trees closed in, the forest swirled,  the sky darkened and Dean kept running. They all were against him, Cas’ fucking cronies or something, maybe watching him reporting back- telling Cas where Dean was running to, where was he running to? Hell maybe Cas was the trees now--watching him he couldn't escape.

God if John Winchester could see him now. If Sam--

Dean realised he was in the hidden meadow as his guts started to flop about like a beached whale. Acid burnt in the back of his throat, and he was falling and he was on his hands and knees and he was _sick_.

Sick and such a goddamned _idiot_.

Dean felt the first faux heave and craned his neck as best he could to retch up what turned out to be nothing.

He spat. Brackish saliva. Nothing else.

After a while, Dean pressed his hand up to his mouth. He almost wished he was throwing up, anything would be better than all the things going on inside him.

Dean laid down in the grassy meadow, down on his stomach than rolled over to face up to the sky, back down in the dewy grass, out of the spit of course, he just focused on slow-breathes. Eyes closed, remembering how to help himself how to make sure he wasn't sucked back down into some attack.

Eventually, each exhale became a low whistle of air. In-out, in-out, something almost  _calming._ Dean breathed in the way that Pamela showed him, the way Cas had showed him.

He didn't head back home to Pam's place until well after nightfall.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:** Bit of angst, Grey Morality (by human standards), Panic Attacks, John Winchester's A+ Parenting. Slight Dub/Non-con touching between different species, Interspecies relations (really if you don't expect this in the fic by now I really can't signpost it more)


	16. Chapter 16

**_  
_**

**Stowe, Vermont, 2015**

 

Pamela Barnes was not what Sam expected.

“Hello handsome.” She greeted Dean at the door, bright blue eyes, dark long hair. Short, in comparison to the Winchesters, but the smile on her face spoke of something, the look in her eye making her seem twice her own size. Pamela’s presence could fill up a doorway.

Dean’s answering smile was almost as large. He drew her into his arms, another mark of uncharacteristic affection. “You’re acting like I didn’t see you just last week.”

“What can I say, not enough Winchester in my life. Speaking of-” Sam unconsciously stepped back when Pamela’s eyes fixed on him. A cool scan; up and down - elevator eyes, resting on his jaw, his chest and his hips.

She almost spun on the spot, turned to Dean and grinned. “So… you really do have a type huh?”

Dean’s hand shot up as though to physically defend himself against the air. “Woah, no Pam—this is Sammy,” Sam jerked forward when he was slapped on the shoulder, Dean’s hand a quick weight, resting, squeezing then moving on. It threw Sam for a minute.

“Sam.” Dean amended, “my _brother_.”

Pamela’s gaze turned from appraising to something a little more calculated. “Sam Winchester in the flesh, surprised no one has been talking about you,” quick as anything Sam was drawn in. A chest and cheek against his chest, arms sliding down his back to the waistband of his jeans, then lower…

Hot breath brushed against Sam’s neck as Pamela looked up at him and _squeezed._ “Mmm. Firm.”

It was rude to push someone away who was half his size, so the relief Sam felt when Dean’s hand came down on Pamela’s shoulder, pulling her gently off, had him thanking his brother with his eyes.

“Down, girl.” Dean laughed. He glanced at Sam, smiled, then threw an arm around Pamela’s shoulders. “She’s harmless, don’t worry,” said Dean with a wink.

Pamela laughed and pushed against his chest, stepping back. Her arms crossed against the faded band logo over her chest. “To you maybe, and well, while you’re wearing that amulet Sam--” she swept her eyes across Sam’s chest, he had a feeling that she wasn’t so much noting the amulet tucked beneath his shirt as she was imagining him without both.

Pamela smiled and placed one hand on her jutted hip. “Might wanna take that off every once in awhile. The side effect is baldness.”

Unwitting, Sam threw a hand up into his hair. “Wha--”

“You spoiled the surprise,” came a voice from behind. Castiel coming up the front steps, hands imbedded deep in his jacket pockets. He looked tired, human, with bags under his eyes and a down turned mouth. Thousand-year-old spirit was not a morning guy, Sam thought to himself, thinking back to the image of Castiel on the drive over, eyes closed, forehead pressed against the glass window, silent. Good to know.

Sam dropped his hand back to his side, took note of Castiel, siding up and a little behind Dean - not even attempting to draw Pamela into a hug, like Dean had.

“Castiel,” Pamela said, a slow easy drawl. Her eyes didn’t pass over Cas the same way they had Sam and Dean. They stuck on the spirit’s face, met his eyes unwavering. “So something did happen.” She gestured to all of him. “You look like shit.”

Sam held back the sound that threatened to escape. It must have been obvious, for Dean jabbed him in the side with his elbow.

“Benny told you?” Castiel asked, ignoring them both.

“Nah, Gypsy, then Ryan Cress,” Pamela listed a couple more names off her fingers, with every one Castiel’s expression remained impassive, Dean’s however, sunk lower and lower. “ _Then_ Benny.” She said with a shrug.

Dean’s smile was gone, his bubbly demeanour gone as well. He didn’t turn to Cas as he spoke, just looked out at nothing, voice coiled into something tight. “You said you were fine.”

Castiel huffed, dug his hands deeper into his jacket. “I am fine. I just fainted.”

“Fainted.” Pamela repeated, she actually frowned then. “When in the last century have you ever fainted?”

Castiel said nothing.

“Exactly,” Pamela went on, self-satisfied, but there was a pin-point frown between her brows, dampening the grin. She kicked off from the doorway and stepped to the side, gesturing through the door with a sweep of her arm. “Doctor’s office is open boys come in, take off your shoes.”

Dean passed in first, obviously feeling at home in the place. Sam followed and was hit with a soft and sweet smell of incense as he crossed the threshold. Sam looked around expecting to see gemstones and tapestries, altars, just some markings of this being the home of a psychic. Instead, wall to floor shelves lined with records, CD’s and DVD’s filled the entry way, amidst an array of framed and signed photographs, a lot of them with a younger, equally vivacious Pamela surrounded by band members and famous singers. No wonder Dean felt at home here.

Sam stepped more into the hallway, scanned some of the framed photos on the wall. One of a Pamela looking very similar to the one he had met just now, her arms around some older men, was that AC/DC?

“You can come in, Castiel.” Pamela tossed in behind herself, passing Sam as she followed Dean deeper into the house. Her jeans hung low on her hips and Sam forced himself to glance up quickly when he saw a flash of baby blue and dark ink. Focus on the hunt, Sam thought to himself, following both humans into the other room.

Only with Pamela’s explicit permission did Castiel step through the door.

 

_______

 

  
Crisp air. A small garden framed by forest trees lush and green in the midday sun. Castiel followed Pamela Barnes out into the garden, leaving Dean and Sam sequestered inside, undoubtedly watching or at least checking in. Castiel breathed a tight breath through his human nose, flexed his bare toes in the still dewy grass, the roots and earth grounding him through the soles of his feet, whispering gently.

“You didn’t tell him,” he said finally, once they were outside earshot of the house. “Pamela I…”

Like a dancer, Pamela spun on one booted heel, legs crossed and folded up beneath her as she sat on the ground, lithe hands rested on her thighs. Her eyes pinned into Castiel and her aura sparked.

“Cut the bullshit Castiel you know I can’t help you, why’d you even come?”

Castiel swallowed his thank you and sat down on the ground opposite her, facing toward the house. He shucked his jacket and opened up his shirt. Revelling in the cool feel of grass and earth and _life_ seeping through his shirt as he lay down.

“You know; I haven’t communed with any of my brethren in—must be more than a few centuries. As far as I’m aware, I’m the last of my kind.” Castiel supposed that there should have been more emotion in his voice when he said that. As it was there was nothing, the literal absence of emotion. Inside, the black corruption flared. Castiel turned his cheek and looked up at Pamela, blinking through his eyelashes and the blades of grass between them. “I don’t suppose you’ve spoken to many spirits either, not in this area.”

Pamela’s eyes were closed, her pale features looking rather porcelain. “Spirits, sure. Everyone carries a few of them around. Godlike things like you though…” she squinted, opened one eye looking down at Castiel. She rubbed her hands down her thighs. “What is wrong with you?”

“I don’t know... Isn’t that funny.” Castiel turned his cheek from her and looked up at the sky. Almost unconscious - or as unconscious a gesture as someone like him could have - his hands and arms curled around his abdomen, fingertips slipping beneath the buttons of his shirt. “Yet this feels familiar, somehow.”

“How so?” Pamela asked, curious.

“This anger, this fear…” Castiel closed his eyes, and spoke without speaking. _I’ve felt something akin to this before._

Pamela’s voice came out hesitant, but soft in the darkness behind Castiel’s eyelids.

“We’ve all felt fear before, felt anger - perhaps you’re becoming more accustomed to humanity faster than you first thought?”

 _Perhaps._ Castiel murmured, slipping his hands from his stomach and burying his fingers in the earth. He curled his fingers slowly. _But this rage…_

“Do you feel angry?” Pamela asked him. “Outside of what you’ve--apparently, taken in?”

In spite of everything, Pamela’s probing touch against Castiel’s thoughts was rather peaceful. A gentle nudge of interest. It always felt nice, being around those who were not quite so mundanely human. Dean was another of the few who inspired such emotion. Having taken Castiel within himself he stood out in a crowded room, amongst humanity—the cooling stream on a summer’s day.

Sam Winchester, on the other hand, was decidedly, utterly, perfectly human.

“Jealously,” Pamela hummed a low note. Castiel resented the smile there in her voice. “You know that’s awfully human?”

_I’m aware._

Pamela shifted a little, and as Castiel coaxed gritty dirt beneath the nail beds of his fingers, she breathed out something like a sigh. “Just, promise you me won’t continue keeping this from Dean. There’s room for both you and Sam in his heart. Just because Sam is back in his life—doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about you.”

 _You would ask of me a promise?_ Castiel hummed, an unconscious force behind his words. _You would ask a god?_

Pamela opened her eyes, the smile no longer in her voice. “Just something for you to consider,” she corrected, but lowered her gaze to her hands, an attempt at respect he accepted, looking away.

“I care about Dean too.” she added.

The corruption twisted, a wriggling thing, a hot deadweight closing in over Castiel’s throat.

Castiel grit his teeth and stared pointedly up at the sun.

He felt Pamela shuffle a little closer. “Do you want to talk about it?”

 _If we could just sit quietly for a time._ Castiel answered, tilting his chin up to the sky. Air cooled and curled across his skin as the leaves in the trees all around rustled. Deep in the dirt there was a rumbling, a molten purr Castiel felt, right in the back of his throat.

 _Act as though you’re doing something,_ he added and closed his eyes.

“Always so polite Cas,”  Pamela snarked but it was gentle. A little like something Dean would have said, how he would have said it-- Castiel let the comment slide. Settling into the silence Pamela crossed her legs, hovered her hands out over Castiel’s chest, and closed her eyes.

 

_______

 

Dean slid his phone into his pocket, looked at the familiar cream wall of Pam’s living room, and breathed out.

“How’s Ben?” Sam asked from the other side of the room. The guy was pacing back and forth, crossing the room from one end to the other with his giant Sasquatch steps.

Ben. The kid had answered the phone all fine as if he hadn’t been in hospital the last eighteen hours, talked about his trip with his dad, asked what happened then quietly asked if he could speak to Cas. Dean promised they’d speak before Ben got home that night, they were keeping the kid and all the others in for tests, completely lost for what affected them all, and for the few who didn’t know Stowe and didn’t know Cas, completely at a loss of how the aliment passed so fast.

And now had probably done something to Cas.

Dean headed for the couch and sunk into it with a groan. “Lisa says he’s fine, they’re all fine. They’ll probably be released this afternoon.”

Sam nodded, gave smile, but his eyes were on the window leading out to the back yard. “That’s good, that’s-that’s good.”

“Quit it.” Dean told him. “Give ‘em some privacy dude.”

Sam’s eyes shot away from the window, tried to look innocent. But he didn’t come and sit down, stood still by the window. “What are they even doing?” he asked.

Dean got up a little on his knees, glanced out the window. Pam usually took her – but of course those people were human. Cas was better outdoors, better out in the open. If the way he was lying down in the grass was any indication, eyes closed, jacket, shoes and socks tossed aside. Cas would get rid of those whenever he could; the socks and the shoes, liking to feel the ground beneath his feet, unmuffled.

“Getting Cas on the mend.” Dean said almost to himself. He looked away from Pam and Cas, glanced at Sam then looked to the tv. “Pam’s gonna do her thing, then Cas is gonna do his thing.” He picked up the remote and started flicking through the channels.

“Which is?”

“Saving people. Like he did Ben and everyone else last night.”

“That doesn’t solve the problem, Dean.”

Dean hated that, the way Sam said his name like that. As though he was stupid and needed explaining to.

“How long have you and Bobby been on this case, two, three weeks? And Nada. Nothing.” It was work to not let the annoyance show through his voice. He must have failed anyway for the way Sam turned from the window and looked at him. Dean cast his eyes to the tv. “You came to Stowe for help.”

“I came to Stowe because I thought I was on a lead.” Sam corrected. “I didn’t even think you were alive.”

Dean’s throat was a little rough. He swallowed. “Yeah, and that’s on me. But you’ve got my help now, mine and Cas’ just—let go of the Hunter’s way of doing things for a bit alright? Let go of the Letters crap and let’s go about this in a way that makes sense.”

“So, no investigation, no research. Just sitting here and,” Sam looked back out the window and worked his jaw.

“We can do that stuff too, just, keep an open mind alright? You’re right in saying we know next to nothing about what’s going on.” Dean got up on his feet but Sam didn’t seem convinced, expression clouded. “You bring your research in the car?”

Sam kept looking outside, started pacing again.

“Look,” Dean edged. “Cas knows his stuff okay, whatever this is, we’ll deal with it.”

Sam huffed a laugh, shrugged then sat on the end of the sofa.

Dean tried to think back. “Family business Sam, didn’t Dad use to say that?” John… the weight of that and regret sat heavy in Dean’s chest. He glanced out at the sunny day outside, encircled one wrist with his other hand, rubbed at the raised veins there.

“That was for Letters.” Sam said but he wasn’t actively frowning.

“The man had a hunting streak, don’t go telling me he didn’t.” Dean replied.

“Yeah, he did,” Sam agreed. “You too, y’know.”

They shared a glance but then Dean had to look away. He changed the channel a couple of times, swept a hand over his face. Stubble on his cheeks and chin, crap he should have shaved this morning, especially if Sam wanted to move out with this hunting—damn, might need to dust off his suit too.

Had hunting always been this much of a hassle?

Dean tuned a bit out while Sam kept speaking. “I remember the time you snuck out, went out on a hunt on your own you were what, fifteen?”

“Sixteen, man, my first hunt.” Dean smiled.

Sam huffed half a laugh. “Yeah, a werewolf is a hell of a first hunt.”

“Yeah- almost got my heart ripped out, man that scared me shitless.”

“You didn’t leave the bunker for a week after.”

“That’s cos every time I so much as moved Dad was practically at my throat.”

“You broke your arm hunting a _werewolf_. Of course he was worried.”

Yeah. Dean wasn’t going to touch that one with a ten-foot pole. “Hell of a cast though right?” he said instead, thinking back on twelve-year-old Sam determined to draw on every square inch of it. Dean had thought at the time how it would be cool to get some tattoos like that half-a-sleeve on his arm. He hadn’t thought about tattoos in a while, the nearest parlour was one in Waterbury. “It looked sweet.”

“Mmm,” Sam laughed something soft and quiet. “Good for waving around too, hell of a weapon when you wanted.”

And just like that the moment was gone.

The channels rolled over as Dean clicked through them, again and again without thought, eyes not really reading the screen, just passing through the shapes of colour and sound.

“What are they even doing out there?” Sam asked after a time.

Dean shrugged “Communing or something, I don’t know. What goes on in a man’s own mind is his own business, and… Pam’s business, if she’s let in.” Sam looked away from the window gain, eyes on Dean who tossed one arm over the back of the couch. “Cas said this wasn’t human right? If it’s spirit or like, ghosty or whatever Pam’s gonna be all over it. She’ll fix-”

“Go back.” Sam jerked toward Dean, who dropped the remote in surprise, the channel flicked over. “Dean, go back.”

Like a floppy kid Sam laid over the sofa and grabbed the remote off the floor, he shot through the channels, fixated on the screen.

Dean climbed off his knees, and leant forward. “What the-”

It was a breaking news story: a shot of a blazing stretch of forest and fire trucks trying to put out the flames. A news anchor-woman with too much makeup suddenly took up the screen.

‘—purposefully lit at Coolidge State Forest. With more than a dozen people already missing, authorities fear the worst, with the supposed chemical origin of the fire—'

Chemical origin.

Dean leant closer, could see Sam doing so too. There were searchlights shining down over the trees and the sound of a helicopter in the background of the frame but more than anything was the black smog or smoke, almost flickering like flaming tentacles out of the forest, ripping up trunks and curling around the fire, as though something alive and sentient. Chemical reaction his _asshole_.

The same thing. It was the _same thing_ . Something bad wasn’t just happening out there like Sam said, dotting across forest towns, something bad was happening _everywhere_. The newscaster transitioned to talking about the effort to contain the flame winning out, but that the damage would be irreversible, and those potentially involved seemingly infected by the chemicals were being rushed to hospitals and containment. A part of Dean wanted to hit the mute button, to change the channel because this thing was only a little over an hour from home and could destroy everything he’d spent so long trying to build.

The reporter was interviewing witnesses now, policeman who’d spent the better hour tossing infected people into ambulances and in the back of their cars, potential fire-bugs or victims no one at the scene was sure.

When another burst of black sparked out of the flames, Dean got up on his feet. “We’ve gotta go.”

Sam was up as well. “Do you think—”

“Cas!” Dean called out rounding into the back yard. Pam was sitting up, hands hovering over Cas’ chest, her eyes closed in deep concentration, but as Dean came into the yard, she shifted. She opened her eyes, looked about to shoot Dean a glare but seemed to read the part of Dean that was flipping out and got to her feet. “Shit.”

Cas, on the other hand, sat up, cocked his head and blinked.

_What’s wrong?_

Dean sent him images of what he’d just seen; the fire, the infected people, everything knotted up inside of him along with the urgency of _we’ve gotta go._

Cas stared at him, blue eyes wide, then climbed to his feet expression resolute.

Dean knew more than anyone that when Cas’ heart broke, it never showed on his face.


	17. End of Part I

**_  
_**

**Cajun Coffee House, Stowe, Vermont, 2005**

Three days after his fight with Cas and Dean’s mood was as black as the cold coffee in front of him. A headache throbbed between his temples, and he’d lost the patience he’d once had to try and keep his foul mood hidden from everyone around him.

Benny’s place was, regrettably, the most popular joint in Stowe, the laid-back atmosphere, eight different kinds of coffee, a WiFi hotspot—it was hardly the kind of place Dean longed to be at the moment. Overhead fans stirred the cool air inside the café, lifting posters and sign up sheets off their pin board over near the far wall. The papers advertising gardening services, lost and found items and one informing everyone of the middle school's bake sale and encouraging community participation. 

After moving out of Pamela’s place the day before, Dean had been doing his best to push any thoughts of Cas and his dad to the back of his brain- and he’d been succeeding very well so far, _thank you very much_. He’d been going into work at Benny’s like now, had been picking up other jobs around town, and again, moving out of Pamela’s spare room taking room up in a motel half an hour out of town. Dean had been flat out distracting himself for the last three days with every intention of just keeping himself for falling back, keeping himself from crashing, sleep wasn’t coming to him and now every move seeped exhaustion.

Everything felt like too much, but Dean refused to be the guy who fell into bed, fell into himself and couldn’t climb back out again. The intensity of everything falling on top of him, the massive fear that was twisting his stomach, not even attached to any single thing anymore.

But thinking about Cas… that brought an ache to Dean’s chest, a toxic mix where he couldn’t sort out what was hurt, what was grief, what was anger and what was fear.

God, he sounded like such a pussy. Dean hated himself for thinking that first.

It was fine; Cas was a pretty big development in his life. Dean thought, acting like Pam had instructed him months ago; trying to push down the 'negative self speak'. Cas was pretty damn huge and Dean was entitled to a bit of introspection about him, given everything.

See, it wasn't that he  _didn't_  like Cas. It was that he did. And his main argument, of not understanding Cas' side of things and of feeling betrayed by Cas' past actions, was starting to feel like a non issue. It was just. The other shoe was going to drop. It always did, and Dean didn't want the resulting mess to be any bigger than it had to be.

He'd grown too attached to Cas, this town, these people, but Cas--it’d hurt more when 'the monster' inevitably started  _acting_  like a monster. Dean was sick of losing people that he cared about. Sick of having to fight and be alone and feel alone in everything he did.

He just wanted to stop fighting. Wanted just to rest.

 Waiting for his clock in time, Dean ran his thumbnail over a chink in his coffee mug. It wasn’t just the shapeless threat of whatever he was feeling setting him careening lately—it felt like everything. Dean felt as though he couldn’t predict his reactions to things anymore, not since leaving the Bunker, not since his fight with Dad. He couldn’t figure out his own moods, let alone this thing with Cas.

Yeah, uh, mostly that at the moment.

Dean rubbed his fingers over his eyes, not even bothering to take a sip of the long cold coffee. He’d taken some Aspirin for his headache but had wanted nothing more than to swig back some whiskey to combat the sting. But of course, Dean wasn’t allowed to do that anymore—Dean was trying not to be the person.

He looked around the café, at the friendly almost familiar now faces. Five months. He’d been here for a little over five months. Up near the mountains, inside this small town, in this coffee shop- where people were always walking around outside, always chatting always saying hello eachother— for a moment Dean found himself missing the confines and solitude of the Impala. Everything was public here.

Maybe, instead of trying to find his own place nearby, it was time for Dean to be moving on all together.

"That’s it.” Benny said. When Dean brought his full cup to the front counter before his shift kicked off. “What’s going on with you?”

“I start work in five Benny.” Dean said, edging around the counter, shucking out from under Benny’s pull. Damn, he could feel Benny wanting to say something else – he'd bet anything the guy’s mouth was open to speak. “Ain’t got time to chat.”

“Alright, then,” said Benny, and then, quick as anything turned from the counter, reached on up, and turned the minute hand on the only clock in the store, back fifteen minutes. Satisfied, he wiped his hands on his apron and turned back to Dean, blue eyes intent and focused. “Talk.”

Dean ignored the changed time and stalked around the counter, he grabbed his apron from beneath the counter and tied it around his waist with renewed fervour. He would not get into this. “Benny—”

“You’ve been a mess all week, barely spoken,” Benny continued following him into the back, knowing someone would call for him out if they wanted service. Dick. “Heard you moved out of Pam’s?”

“Does this town have any secrets?”  Dean swallowed around his tight throat, longing for the sting of something alcoholic.

The look Benny cast him in reply was no less than scathing. “No one has seen much of you, or Castiel for that matter, in days.”

The barking laugh that escaped Dean then was almost painful. “Oh, so ya’ll acknowledging his existence now. Cool.”

“Did something happen?” Benny asked a little more gently.

Dean clamped his mouth shut, already regretting what little he already said. Benny stood across from him, quiet, probably knowing exactly what was going through his head already. That was just the kind of guy he was. They’d spent too many afternoons together, chatting quietly, fishing, working, to not be at least a little familiar with each others issues. Dean’s issues with his family at least— but this thing with Cas…

“Ever occur to you that, maybe talking the shit out inside your head- might help you in figuring it out a little?” Benny said at length. 

Dean swallowed, Benny’s suggestion waking a pain in his chest he didn't want to analyse. 

“You know Cas he—” _he kissed me, he let a man die_. Dean got dressed quickly, ignoring the way his stomach lurched. “You know what happened with Pam’s dad? I thought Cas was different I thought he was _good_.”

The silence then was painful, long. Benny crossed his arms over his broad chest without saying much, leant against the counter, then took a deep breath. “That’s the thing with Hunter’s, they forget that everything’s not black and white.”

Only Pam and Cas knew that Dean had been Men of Letter’s, had been a Hunter once too. He froze.

Benny spoke, in a way that had Dean jerking his head up to meet his gaze. He looked at Dean steadily, mouth parted, lips pulled back—teeth, two rows, above the normal human set, dozens of thin needle like fangs unsheathed from somewhere inside the guy’s gums.

Too blind to catch a clue, Dean staggered against the counter behind him, reached out a hand and came up empty—again, he didn’t carry weapons on him any more.

Gravity vanished for a second there, making Dean feel like his stomach floated free in his belly, turning over and over like a balloon.

“You’re a Vampire.” He said, unease spreading in his gut like a flash flood, god he didn’t even have a _gun_. First Cas, now Benny- god how long had Benny _known?_ More importantly what else had Dean _missed_?

“Yeah, yeah I am.” Though his voice was smooth and calm, Benny held his hands out a little, palms raised, as tense as Dean had ever seen him. His fangs retracted quickly, making him look utterly human once more. “Castiel, he took me in. Couldn’t...couldn’t cure me or nothing but when I first turned—” He looked as though he was to make a step toward Dean, but Dean stepped back, felt a bench press against his legs.

Benny didn’t move, and folded his hands over his chest. He looked down at the lino floor. “I’ve lived in this town a long time, I’ve known these people- some of them their whole lives n’Castiel, he’s done a lot of good, he’s protected a lot of people, helped them too- when he can. Like he did you. And me.”

It was as though there was a knot in Dean’s mind, squeezing tighter. “You’re a _Vampire_.”

Benny raised a brow and looked across at him, slow and thoughtful. “Haven’t had human blood in over thirty years, if that settles your conscience.”

It didn't. Dean felt a little sick. He backed away. “I’ve—I’ve gotta work.”

“Look, brotha—Dean,” Benny corrected himself halfway through as he caught sight of the poisonous look Dean threw his way. “I know, you got a lot of beef with your old man, you get raised in a certain way by certain kinds of people and that leaves its marks,” Benny looked as though he was going to say more on the topic of John Winchester, but he held off, there must have been something in Dean’s expression, in his eyes, which were focused on the crooks of his arms, crossed over his stomach. “But you can’t go through life making assumptions on people cos of what they are, cos of the mistakes they’ve made in the past.”

Continuing, Benny’s voice was soft; “M’not saying what Castiel did was right or wrong. World don’t work like that, if it did- hell, everything’d be a helluva lot easier. But he made a mistake-we all do.”

“Cas doesn’t view what he did to Richard Barnes as a mistake.” The voice that said that didn’t sound like Dean’s, it sounded like _John,_ terse, untrusting. Benny looked so human there, shirt buttons a little undone around his neck, a pale blue apron over his front, blue eyes, scruff for days—he looked so human but wasn’t.

How could Dean not have seen.

"Well then, maybe you can be the one to show him your point of view.” Benny said with a softened gaze. Dean had seen Vampires once, on a hunt with Uncle Bobby, three of em, the last remnants of a nest that had been split up by other hunts but not eradicated. He remembered the blow out blood red in the creature’s eyes as they ran and fought, remembered how hard it had been to behead his first, almost impossible on a first blow. It had taken Dean three hard swings and some sawing to finally put his first Vamp down.

“Dean—”

Dean blinked hard, and started for the back room. Rubbing at his eyes with a closed fist. He couldn't look at Benny. He just couldn't. “Gotta work.” he said, but he didn't snap; he said it softly. “Can I take back-of-house for awhile?”

Dean didn’t need to look up to know Benny’s eyes were on him. To know he was frowning.

“Sure, brotha. I’ve got the front.”

A slow burn of customers continued throughout the rest of the morning, Dean sticking to the back room, waved with a tight smile to those few who called out hello’s as they knew he was on shift. Benny stuck to the front as promised, not coming out between orders to joke and chat as they normally did. Every so often, Dean found himself watching Benny’s back, Dad's voice in his head wondering if the carving knife on the bench beside him was sharp enough to cut through thick bone and muscle.

But this was Benny. His friend. Dean didn’t _want_ to kill him.

Maybe he didn’t have to.

The café was busy, filled with a stream of chatter and the smell of coffee and baked goods. Dean missed the scent of the Impala and the sound of her engine. Fixing up dishes and drinks through his shift was a slow road, every order call out from Benny made him flinch. Work passed sluggishly, Benny stopped trying to seek out his eye, and in the quiet moments in between-looking from the counter, to his hands, to the kitchen knife, to Benny-Dean’s hands felt tired and stained.

 

**________**

 

Dean didn’t notice that the cafe had fallen absolutely silent until he looked up from the sink full of lunch rush dishes to see a figure pass Benny without being stopped and walk quickly behind the service counter.

A few seconds later there was a knock on the door leading into the kitchen.

Dean answered the way he always did when he couldn’t see who was trying to get to him. He grabbed at one of the freshly washed knives and held it down by his side. There was a gentle knock again: fully armed and expecting trouble, Dean said nothing just waited for the figure to give up and push the kitchen door open them self.

The person standing in the open doorway was masculine, their olive toned skin mostly exposed and white-white hair sticking out all over. A trench coat was tied tight at the waist with nothing on their muscled runner’s legs, toned calves and feet. Even human, Cas' hair was all white, from his eyebrows to his eyelashes to the hair on his naked legs, his blue eyes were solemn but cordial as he stepped in through the swinging doorway barefoot, letting it swing shut behind him.  
  
Dean dropped his knife back into the sink.

He felt his heart leap for the first time in days, too shocked to berate himself for reacting like a fourteen-year-old-girl. Something  _hot_  surged through him. It started in Dean's chest, burned through his stomach and spread to the tips of his fingers. Emotion ached behind his sternum. Cas had made himself look human.

 "Cas?"  
  
Cas nodded once, a short, up-and-down jerk of his white-haired head. His voice followed, a soft, sonorous hum in Dean’s head. Filling up some ache Dean hadn’t realized had been nesting beside his temples for days.  Dean started in surprise and was suddenly painfully aware that he hadn’t stopped staring. Neither of them really had. But it was hard to hold still under such intense scrutiny. 

 _Hello Dean._ Cas spoke then coughed, all gruff and gargle, a gross dry, _painful_ sound- completely at odds with his normal voice.

Before Dean could stop to think about what he was doing, he’d stepped forward and reached out as though to run his hands over Cas’ back, rubbing down his shoulders. Cas stepped back at the last moment, hand raised between them- blue eyes, human eyes, looking almost...afraid?

“I’m okay,” Deep was the first thought Dean had in listening to Cas’ human throat make human words. Deep and rough, as though Cas was sick. Cas gestured into the kitchen with one arm, it was only then that Dean realised the coat he was wearing (both blocky and beige) was too small, its sleeves only covering two thirds of Cas’ arms. “May I—”

Dean tensed up, muscles turned rigid, when Cas stepped closer and made a move past him. “Uhh, yeah,” he answered, not really knowing what he was being asked.

Cas made no sound as he crossed the kitchen. Leaving ample space between him and Dean, he headed to the sink.  Dean watched Cas with wide eyes, take a drying glass from the dish rack, dip It into the soapy, dirty dishwater then down it all in a couple mouthfuls.

Slowly, Cas came back around the bench, leaning on it so that he and Dean were beside each other. He smacked his lips with a wet slick sound, brushed away the dish-soap bubbles that had caught at the corner of his mouth. All skin and beige and white.

After a minute of contemplative silence, Dean finally asked.

“Are you naked under that trench coat?” He took in a sharp breath and he shifted on the spot where he stood.  
  
Cas – because it was him, irrevocably, undoubtedly, even though his face was chiseled and angular, his pupils small, arms the size of strong branches, both wiry and muscled, smoothed the front of his coat as though patting down a dress, the move itself almost bashful. “Not entirely.”

He untied his trench coat carefully, and for lack of anything else; flashed Dean a look at sharp hipbones, a toned chest and more white-hard-to-see hair leading down. Dean blinked, took in the sight of the denim skirt the white happy-trail disappeared beneath. Blinked again.

“You’re wearing a skirt…” It looked too little small. Tight at the waistline and over Cas’ thighs. The blue coarse material seemed to be riding up enough that it would probably be better for Cas to keep that trench coat closed.  
  
Perhaps reading Dean’s mind, or maybe just intuitive, Cas tied the coat back up, fingers light, quick, but a little clumsy. “I am.” He said, voice all at once as forceful as thunder and yet pressed to the whorl of Dean’s ear in a soft whisper. He was still this insurmountable thing, like listening for the ocean in a sea-shell. “It was the only thing Pamela had that somewhat fit.”

Dean didn't know really what to say-pretty sure that that was a lie.

“It’s fine,” He tried, only then pulling his eyes up to Cas’ face, _Cas’_ _face_. With expressions and words and god he was practically albino which only made his damn eyes stand out that much more. “It’s just you—you’re…”

“Human, yes. It’s uncomfortable.” Cas cut in. No bullshit even in this form, but his eyes were on the floor. He licked his lips again, something that looked sloppy and unpractised, he drooled a little as though he had braces and too much spit. he didn't bother wiping the excess away with his hand, just licked around his mouth again. “Strange. Everyone has been looking at me.”  
  
“Can you blame them? You’re… _albino_.”

Cas made a sound that was halfway between a huff and a snort. “I’ve never been very good at pigmentation.” He explained, slow.

And yeah, Dean realised going through his mental roster of all Cas’ forms, yeah that was pretty accurate.

His lips twisted up in something that might’ve looked like a smile, but it was deprecating and weak, while Cas only looked frustrated. He looked as tired as Dean felt. 

“Yeah umm,” Dean rubbed a hand over his neck and face. “Starting to get that.”

Talking with Cas now, it was starting to seem less and less like a good idea. Dean was angry with himself now for not thinking properly, angry with Cas for not listening and for turning his life on its head yet again just showing up human. As though that made a difference, did that make a difference? Was this some kind of gesture. Dean could barely sort himself out before let alone now. Perhaps it would’ve been best that they didn’t speak right now. As much as that pained Dean to think, now, looking at Cas, it might just be easier.

Cas didn’t seem to agree with that much.

 _Can we leave? Go somewhere?_   He asked without speaking, a soft quiet sound—especially now in comparison to his gravelly human voice. He looked up at Dean, his face making Dean’s chest hitch. _I…Privacy...we—_

If they were gonna do this, it would be better if they did go outside. Back to Dean’s maybe or the forest. But Dean discarded that idea quick when he glances at Cas’ dirty feet. Whether Cas could feel the pain of walking around barefoot outside or not, it still would be best to fix him up, talk on Dean’s home turf instead of Cas’, it would probably be more comfortable for everyone. 

“Sure just let me…” Dean mumbled, uncomfortable with the intensity behind those blue eyes. Wordless, he crossed the floor and pushed out into the front room.

All eyes in the coffee house where on him, a couple people only darting their eyes back down to their tables and plates away when Cas followed Dean through the door.

Fuck. Dean grabbed at the back of his neck and squeezed, made his way to Benny who was also staring, mouth a little open—teeth more than human.  
  
“Um Benny?” Dean hedged, he felt like a kid standing there in front of the guy, a bona fide cocktail of mixed emotions and daddy-issues.

At least Benny looked a little stupid too, staring at Castiel, not saying anything.  
  
It would have been funny normally, but Dean just felt tired. He tried again. “Benny?”  
  
Benny shook the funk off quickly, looking from Cas behind Dean’s shoulder to Dean. “Yeah, uh, yeah brotha?”  
  
Dean jerked a thumb behind him. “Cas and me, we’re gonna split.”

  
“He’s white.” Benny said without thinking.  
  
“What?”  
  
Benny shifted as though he was uncomfortable. “Really white. N'he’s _human_.”

Cas made a humming sound without any words, something impatient and light like a squeak. Everybody was looking at him.  
  
“Watch how you say that man,” Dean half-joked, uncurled for a moment, leaned across and just like any other day but a little more hesitant, he punched Benny lightly in the shoulder. He could do it harder, do it like normal, but he was still wary to touch Benny.  The scandalised and confused look he got in response, which broke out into an easy, almost tentative smile was more of a balm to Dean than it should have been.

He stepped back, small steps, and felt Cas shift behind him. “We’re gonna go.” He said, and without touching Cas or turning back, he lead him out of the coffee shop.

“Dean—” Benny called out before they passed through the door. Dean stopped and he turned, aware helplessly that none of this, none of this at all was private. Such was a part of living in Stowe.

Benny adjusted his cap on his head, his voice sounding a little rougher when he next spoke. “You’ll come in Monday?” he asked, all helpful, giving almost a smile.

And Dean, for the second time that day, he fought against the part of him that wanted to run. “I’ll come in Monday.”

  
  
**-End of Part One-**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this fic, please let me know! <3 
> 
> In the meantime have a happy holidays/New Year, and I'll see you (either on my Tumblr) or here on **January 13th** where the story will continue!


	18. Part II

**_  
_**

**Part Two**

 

**_Lost in the forest, I broke off a dark twig_ **

**_and lifted its whisper to my thirsty lips:_ **

**_maybe it was the voice of the rain crying,_ **

**_a cracked bell, or a torn heart._ **

 

 

**Earthly Realm, 2015**

 

Castiel breathed in, and with the inhale came a tide of sound, colour, air. Sucked into what was an emptiness, a darkness—as though something inside had been snuffed out. The sky was a mile above him, the earth below, completely silent.

**Help!**

Aside, of course, from the screaming.

**HELP ME!**

The earth groaned, the sky breathed. Castiel squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught, and prayed for Dean to drive faster.

 

**_  
_**

**Stowe, Vermont, 2005**

 

Cas moved differently as a human.

Maybe it was because, for the first time, he had bipedal legs that could move independently. Maybe it was because said legs were barefoot—trapped in the tight mess of a blue jean skirt. Restricted, confined. Cas didn’t move his arms when he walked, held them tight by his side. He walked with the kind of posture Dean rarely saw outside of the armed forces. When Dean glanced down between them, he had to flinch to see how hard the soft, practically newborn soles of Cas’ feet, pressed against the earth. That Cas didn’t seem to notice only made it worse.

Castiel shifted closer to Dean as they walked, shoulders brushing. Instead of moving away Dean watched how the wind pulled at his friend's hair, blowing it wild across his face.

“Your feet okay?” he asked.

_Yes._

Cas’ eyes were on the ground as he spoke. Slow- almost mechanical, he moved his arms up, to around his waist, a mirror of Dean’s own.

Fifty metres, one hundred, two—even though Dean’s current place was outside of town, it was still within walking distance, way to go small towns.

Dean’s own steps crunched over the gravel loudly, he was almost convinced he could feel the press of sharp stones through the rubber sole of his boots.  

“You sure you don’t want any shoes?”

 _I’m fine._ Cas insisted something terse in his voice. Dean lead them around the next corner, down the road like a winding drive way. _But…thank you._

“Cas,” Dean said, looking across at the head of white hair beside him. It would be soft, he knew. He could touch it, he knew that too. Cas would allow it. Had allowed it before. It was humbling, Dean thought, that such a freaking god-like creature would allow _Dean to touch his hair_. He looked away.

“You know why I’m mad right?” Dean asked his feet. “Why I can’t forgive you?”

 _Pamela is someone you care about._ Cas turned his face to Dean, expression serious enough that it made Dean’s stomach twist around as though he hadn’t eaten food in days. “I’ve hurt her,” he said aloud.

“Yeah I do and you did. But it’s not just that.” Dean dug his hands deep into his pockets, fished for the motel key in his jeans. Anything he could do instead of looking back at Cas. He quickened his pace until Cas trailed behind. “I get that it was a long time ago; I get that you felt you were doing the right thing. Somehow, that makes sense to you but I—I can’t get over that. What you did was cruel. Makes me sit back and think- shit what else is this guy capable of?”

“At the time I thought it necessary.” Cas said, then softer in Dean’s mind. _Sometimes the only choices you have are bad ones, but you still have to choose._

Dean swallowed, said nothing for a moment.

“I don’t want to get into this,” he said eventually. “There’s no winning in something like this. We’re on fundamentally different pages, and I can’t—I care about you but I hate that you did that.”

 _I care about you_ ; there it was—out there. Amazingly the world didn’t blow up. Amazingly Cas didn’t run and for once Dean didn’t feel as though he was stopping someone from running by admitting he wanted them to stay. He wasn’t holding Cas hostage, not like he did to everyone else.

Cas was different.

Dean turned to face Cas completely, stopping there on the side of a road winding through the Vermont mountains. Cas looked ridiculous, naked in a trench coat and a skirt, was he cold? They had to get inside, maybe he was cold. “If we’re gonna do this, you can’t kill or—just let people die like that again. You find another way.”

Cas’ eyes passed over the surrounding forest, across the trees, toward the motel off down the road, to the sky. They were blue, like opal, when they rested on Dean. “This?”

Dean swallowed, but made sure Cas was looking at him as he gestured between them, stepping forward. “You like me, right?”

For the second time that Dean could recall, Cas was the one to look away. _I—I don’t know what you mean._

“Romantically,” Dean pressed. “Let’s just… pull that knife out right at the start.”

Cas glanced at him, blue eyes through white eyelashes, as strange as it was attractive, Dean circled his key right around his finger and fiddled with the keys in his hand.

 _I’ll just make you uncomfortable again,_ Cas explained, looking back at him.   _I know you don’t feel romantic attraction._

“Right,” Dean edged, dicking about with the keys, he cocked an eyebrow at Cas. “That kinda answers the question though doesn’t it?”

Cas turned his face from him, as though ashamed. “I…showed you physical affection,” he tried and nope- _nope_. Dean kicked back into his walk with Cas following. They weren’t gonna talk about this, not here, where anyone could see them, where anyone could hear. But Cas was insistent, seeming to find his words better when he wasn’t speaking them.

_And I did so without your permission, beyond the boundaries of your comfort._

Dean stuck his key in the lock of the hotel room. Cas stopped still behind him, close, so that his breath hit the back of Dean’s neck.

_I’m sorry._

“It’s fine, Cas.” Dean said and opened the door. They went inside.

 _It isn’t fine_ said Cas shutting the door behind him, slowly, as though he’d never done such a thing before. He held onto the door handle gently, just for a moment, before turning to Dean, gaze taking in the room. _You’re just pretending it is._

“Cos it all feels bigger than me alright? You’re- you’re so much more and I forgot but looking at you now—” There was a single bed and Dean fell onto it. Face first, childish and exhausted, he rolled onto his side, leaving some room for Cas to sit beside him, something normal now, for the two of them- but with Cas looking human, it tasted of something different.

More intimate.

“You’re forgiven okay, for kissing me and—I got nothing more to say on the other thing. We’re gonna try and move past it.”

Like a mirror image, Cas lay down on his side, the skirt and the trench coat stretching tight riding up, it was ridiculous. Dean closed his eyes.

 _This is strange._ Cas admitted then said aloud. “I think I could grow to love you? I don’t know.” He shifted in place. _Before it was very easy to know that my attraction to you was primarily sexual and protective, but this form_ — Cas paused, ran one hand up his chest, across his jaw to his neck. He gripped the hair there across his nape in a way Dean suddenly recognized was _his_ move.

"I think it’s different," Castiel considered out loud after a time. "My previous forms don't feel the way humans do: love is not something they dwell on much. There’s priority in possession, in survival and furthering my own genetic line—when the fancy strikes. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect what is mine." He paused, squinted his eyes as if he was trying the best way to word what he wanted to convey in his head first. "You’ve become… mine, in a sense. You belong to me and I—I you, if that is something you might want. I apologise, I know that may be something uncomfortable for you to hear. "

 _‘_ You belong to me _’._ Truth be told that was actually pretty—reassuring? Dean would have remarked out loud how ridiculous such a thought was,that Dean was like some valuable object to be owned, but the tentative, small quirk upwards of Castiel's lips made him pause. He pressed his cheek into the bed spread, mirroring Cas, and recognised quite easily there was pride there in blue eyes, something like devotion, something enveloping.

Fuck him, somehow Dean had really managed to woo a fuckin’ forest god! This centuries-old being that was so enraptured with him that he was here now, pride set aside as he’d reshaped his body in a way that would make it easier for Dean to relate to.

The moment broke when Cas rolled off of his side toward the head of the queen bed.

  _I have never been here before._ He said looking up at the ceiling. _This is…your new home?_

“I’m just staying here right now.” Dean answered. “Had a talk with Pam and think I should work on getting my own place if I’m staying in Stowe, if you’re gonna keep coming over.”

Cas licked his dry lips, blinked so slowly it was as though he’d closed his eyes. “Am I?”

“What?”

“Going to ‘keep coming over’.” Castiel asked gently, then he smiled, just a little, the skin around his nose wrinkled, and his eyes scrunched up, the sight effectively dissolved any leftover tension in Dean. It wasn’t even a smile though, not really, more of a twitch, an instinctual jerk of muscles held a second too long on his face.

“You’re invited,” Dean said and meant it. He kicked his shoes off of his feet and dug his socked toes into the bed spread. “It’s only for a bit, Pam and Lisa are gonna help me find a place nearby, I’ve taken too much of Pam’s good will already. I—I’ve gotta start living. A job, a place- working on me,” It was as though Dean was more so talking aloud to himself than to any one person in the room. Things he would never say to another soul coming out. “I don’t wanna be _this_ guy anymore. The guy who’s angry and hurt…just, all the time.”

That nasty, clawing truth came out much easier than Dean ever expected it would. He thought there’d be some kickback, some emotional fallout. Instead, suddenly, all he could focus on was the fact that Cas was there by his side, lying close, his trench coat fallen a little open, still tied around his waist. Only wearing the skirt so there was so much _skin_. Olive skin a little darker than Dean would have expected given the pigmentation thing, but toned, more so than Dean at least. The urge to reach out and push the rest of the trench coat off Cas’ shoulders was strong.

Dean swallowed around a sudden tightness in his throat and forced himself to look away.

The silence there between them was comfortable, Cas broke it slowly, almost as if he didn’t want to. “I hate the English language.”

Dean turned his cheek. “What?”

“Words. They’re limited, imprecise,” Cas’ voice was a low, bumpy roll. If Dean hadn’t known better, he would have assumed Cas was some kind of smoker.

“I can’t say things the way I see them, the way I feel them, I can’t—” Cas broke off.

“I get ya,” Dean assured him, picking up the slack. “Y’know when I found out that being bisexual - hell, aromantic even - was a thing, I kinda, ah—broke down.”

It was a shameful memory for Dean; crying, sitting in the Impala, parked along the side of the road. He’d felt so stupid at the time, stupid and over-emotional. He never wanted to sink into that again. He pulled his hand up over his mouth and rubbed, only stopped when he felt Cas shift closer to him, eyes so intent and patient that Dean had to look back, had to admit to himself what was _really_ stupid.

He hadn’t been stupid for getting emotional over it, it wasn’t shameful to _feel_ things. Or to feel things differently.

“I mean I was like huh okay, so this is a thing. And then I uh, cried for an hour. Was stupid.” Damnit already sucking. But Cas didn’t say anything, didn’t tell Dean he needed to correct himself. He just looked and he laid there, and his fingers reached out and stopped just short of touching Dean’s arm. Even without the touch that was enough. Was everything.

Dean swallowed, took a moment, figured out what he wanted to say. “English isn’t all that bad I mean, it’s full of these words right? These labels, yeah they divide and they segregate shit and that’s awful but sometimes, having words for something isn’t all that bad, because the thing that wasn’t a thing before becomes something, an idea you can just—share with others and have them get it.”

Cas’ voice was almost a rolling purr. “You’re comparing your sexuality to being inhuman.”

“It’s not a perfect metaphor alright?” Dean said and nudged Cas’ outstretched fingers with his elbow. But he left his arm there, and Cas’ fingers curled into his skin. Little points of gentle heat. “Just saying, m’not exactly Shakespeare either. English sucks, sometimes it’s alright. Feel free to make up words and tell me what they mean if you wanna get some idea across.”

Dean should have known of course that Cas would take that literally.

Cas screamed; a sound somewhere between a gargle, squark and a cough. Dean jumped so much he almost fell off the bed.

He laughed mostly just out of shock. “What the—” Dean sat up on his knees. “What the fuck does _that_ mean?”

“Shakespeare is redundant,” Cas translated perfectly deadpan.

He rolled close to Dean’s side, so close they touched. His face buried in the space Dean had just been laying in. He took a deep, perceptible sniff, then lifted up his head, looked at Dean with his cheek nestled in the covers. “This area smells like you.”

Dean huffed. And Cas was there just sniffing the spot blissfully. It was hard not to reach out and run his fingers through Cas’ bedraggled white hair. Instead he knelt down on his elbow, chin in his hand, Cas looking like a kid face buried in the covers. “Kinda always pictured you brunette, as a human.”

Cas didn’t even bother to stop his sniffing. _Why? I’ve always been pale when carbon based._

“Yeah, guess I shouldn’t have assumed.”  Dean huffed something of a laugh. He sat back, “this is weird.”

Cas rolled over in a wriggling, childish way. His trench coat got all roughed up, the collar slipping down a bit, showing off a lightly, whitely haired chest and dark nipples. There was a small mole there, Dean found himself staring.

“I’m enjoying it,” Cas said but Dean was only kinda half-listening. Eyes caught on Cas’ hands moving down to the tie at his waist. “May I?”

Uhh... Dean nodded.

Quicker than any other movement Cas had made so far, he undid the tie, slid out of the trench coat and dropped it over the side of the bed. Shoulders broad, sharp lines with his shoulder blades, hip bones and collar bone. Dean could grab and bite and kiss and suck them if he wanted too.

And he did. Want to, that was.

“Kinda thought you’d be all ah, chaste’n’shit too. New body and everything,” said Dean, as Cas stretched out his arms above his head, relaxing down into the bed with his mouth parted.

“Just because I haven’t been human before, doesn’t mean I haven’t had sex.”

Dean coughed and Cas looked over at him, his whole body a lazy roll and suddenly, they were pressed together. Like _together_ , together. “I’m a desirable mate in the eyes of many species. I can bare strong offspring.”

Zero to sixty in less than three moves.

“Cas—”

Cas’ hand curled around Dean’s waist. Smooth like well blended whiskey; he rolled them over. Pressed from chest to groin, Dean flooded with heat as Cas hovered over him, seeming unsure now- that he had Dean beneath him, where the hell to put his hands.

Dean started, preparing to backpedal, but Cas ducked down and made a sound like a low growl, pressing his mouth and nose into the bare skin of Dean’s throat. He sniffed, wetly, and then rubbed his nose over Dean’s pulse point, making Dean shiver and thicken in his jeans.

And yeah, okay, this was weird, but Cas wasn’t really human and animals rubbed up on people to show affection and… Dean needed to reign in control of the situation before they took this a few steps further than either of them needed right now.

 _You smell divine._ Cas murmured, lips parted over Dean’s skin, but no kisses.

Dean turned his head, his hands finding Cas’ waist out of muscle memory. “M’all sweaty.”

 _Yes._ There was the warm, wet drag of a tongue across Dean’s Adam’s apple, making him jerk back as hard as he could and squeeze Cas’ hips. _Dean—_

“Stop.” Dean said.

And Cas did, as if something had bitten him. Now off the bed entirely, breathing heavy, face flushed, skirt—well still a skirt and still denim, so the bulge was less but still pointedly _there_.

Dean couldn’t help but breathe a small sigh of relief that that moment with Cas above him was over, though of course he had no clue as to what had just happened. At the same time, he immediately missed the pressure of Cas’ weight on him, his hands, the earnest attraction in his blue eyes when he looked down at Dean—as though remarkably, Dean was important, as though fuck—maybe he was everything.

 _You’re mine._ Cas had said, something that made Dean shiver the more the idea settled beneath his skin.

“I—apologies, this is new, strange. You smelt as though you wanted--I don’t…I’m feeling _everything—_ ” fists clenched, eyes on the floor, Cas breathed out a huff, more a repressed roar than anything, and planted his head in his hands, suddenly a child.

Careful. Dean edged forward, zero-to-sixty his head still spun a little. The air in the room felt thicker, somehow.

“No, it’s fine,” he tried to insist, “you stopped.”

Castiel looked up at him, with an earnest expression on his face and there Dean remembered the moment Cas as a stag had hovered over his dying body down in the muck and grime of the river bed. How he’d healed Dean gently, all light and sound. Dean remembered wanting to, trying to reach up and touch Cas’ crowned head, aiming to just feel him, prove that something so beautiful was actually really _there_.

He was still the same guy.

Cas took a breath, collecting himself. "I'm sorry." He said and perhaps it was meant to be reassuring, but it came out flat and staid. _I should leave._

Dean blew out a stream of frustrated air. “No, okay. This is just—I don’t wanna fuck if it’s gonna change things between us, you’re kinda like family or something to me okay, do you get that? I can’t take losing any more people I care about because I fuck it up.”

 _You…care about me?_ Cas looked up, but at the same time shook his head. _But I’m not people._

“I know that. M’trying to say you’re important...to me.”

_You’re important to me too._

Cas laid back down onto his side while Dean shifted, kicking the blanket out from under his legs as he tried to get comfortable. They lay in silence, Cas facing Dean but the air crackled between them the awkwardness not yet forgotten. The desire either, still cloying. Dean could feel it in every inch of his skin, sharp and wanting. He _wanted_ to do everything that Cas also wanted, but he didn’t want to do more than what Cas was actually ready for, what he was ready for– even if Cas thought them both ready for it.

It took several long minutes of staring at the side of Cas face before Dean came to a decision. “I want to, I do, just—not right now. Just cos I don’t love or like you like that, doesn’t mean sex is the only way to get close with me.”

Cas glanced sideways at him, biting his lip. Remarkably human, again a mimicry of Dean himself. The silence dragged on until Dean was almost sure that Cas wasn’t going to say anything; and then of course, that was when he finally spoke.

“We can just lay here quietly for a time. If that’s alright?” Cas asked, all bare skin and glistening- still flushed a little red in patches and sweaty.

Lying together, something that was normal for them, but still made Dean’s heart skip now. He got up off the bed.

“Sure, first m’gonna piss.”

Den breathed in deep when the bathroom door clicked shut behind him. He headed for the small vanity sink and pressed up against it’s side. Lying with Cas while he looked like this felt more intimate than Dean typically liked. He had experience with people getting the wrong idea.

He was surprised the bathroom unit didn’t catch on the bulge of his dick, still feeling heavy and greedy from Cas’ advances, just from _Cas_ , Dean knew that if he didn’t start thinking of something else soon it was going to start commanding its own damn gravity. He let out a whistling breath from between clenched teeth, closed his eyes, counted to ten.

He was no less hard when he reached ten for the second time, but thought that maybe the counting and breather was doing some good regardless. He felt a little more centered now, a little less likely to rush back into the room all demanding and rip Cas’ (barely there) clothes off so he could dry hump him into the shitty motel mattress, or up against the bare, shitty dresser in the corner or against the shitty mirror in the corner of the room—

Dean counted to ten a couple times more before heading back in.

Cas was lying face up on the bed when he came back in, staring intently at his own hand which he held suspended above his face.

“Fingernails are made of keratin; the same protein as claws, hooves, and horns.” Cas spoke without preamble, neither glancing toward or acknowledging Dean much when he came to sit back beside him. “The most human part of being human is your hands. Yet they still maintain such a vestigial animal structure.”

“You talk a lot as a human.” Dean said and flipped onto his back so they were both looking up at the ceiling like idiots.

It happened all at once. There was a very small sound like the whisper of a wind let inside and then, Cas the human had disappeared, replaced by swirling white mist and a moment later Cas again. As a wolf lying there, white, a little dirty, shifting a little awkwardly as he kicked and snarled the tangle of denim from around his hind legs. The wolf-Cas shook out his fur and dug his long muzzle into the bed spread beneath him before he turned back to stare at Dean with a huff.

 _You prefer me inhuman,_ he rumbled, it wasn’t a question.

“I’d kinda like you to be something smaller. _”_ Dean joked though only weakly. Cas really did take up a lot of the bed like this. Cas huffed a sound into the bed cover and eventually turned to him. Dean meeting his blue eyes, the same eyes, felt bold.

“Seriously Cas, I don’t mind you human. It’s just different.” He admitted the next a little softer. “ _You’re_ different.”

Cas was this unwavering, solid, sure foundation.

No one else would believe Dean if he were to tell them that. They’d see the spirit who changed with the direction of the wind, the mind at once fickle but then resolved. This thing that changed, had changed, would change for thousands of years a hundred times over. Have a thousand different faces, a thousand different forms.

It had been five months. Dean hadn’t had a Bad Day/Week in a very long time. It had been months since he cried over an un-rung phone, numbers that had gone un-dialed, regret and fear cloying his throat so much he’d choke. It had been even longer since he had felt sorry for himself. Worthless.

He didn’t attribute this change to the creature lying beside him so much as he did to space, freedom, room to breathe for the first time. It would be all too easy to drown himself in sex or booze and numb it all away for good- and God he wanted to, he wanted to, with Cas’ body and the sound of his gruff voice. The sure foundation that was Castiel was such an easy trap to fall into.

What was not easy was to stare into the blue eyes of a wolf or a stag or a calming river and face everything about himself without running. And yet, that was what he needed.

 _I will always be different. And I will always be the same._ Cas intoned, and wriggled forward all belly and paws (which was hard not to laugh at and always looked ridiculous, by the way) till his side pressed against Dean’s. Their faces so close together Dean could lean forward and touch his cheek with his nose. So he did. Kinda like a kiss, mostly not though.

That mattered.

Cas huffed. _You are endlessly puzzling Dean Winchester._ But he didn’t rebuff the touch.

It was easier like this, Cas was right, but only because he was familiar.

Human Cas could become familiar too, someday.

“We can make this work.” Dean said, but it came out a bit like a question.

Cas opened one blue eye, looked at Dean and—Dean guessed from the light in his eyes— smiled.

 _Yes Dean_ , _we can make this work._

“Okay,” Dean smiled, and with his face still turned into Cas’, he curled his fingers in Cas furred flank and closed his eyes. “Okay.”  
  


**__**

[Anon Anton](http://anonymousantonym.tumblr.com/)

 

 

**_  
_**

[Rabidbinbadger](http://rabidbinbadger.tumblr.com/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over the break I got some AMAZING art from Anon Anton and RabidbinBadger!! Make sure to send them some love
> 
>  
> 
> [Anon's post](http://anonymousantonym.tumblr.com/post/155317198136/i-found-my-self-very-curious-whilst-reading#notes/)
> 
>  
> 
> [Rabidbinbadger's post](http://rabidbinbadger.tumblr.com/post/155457116936/the-corruption-twisted-a-wriggling-thing-a-hot/)


	19. Chapter 19

**_  
_**

******Coolidge State Forest, Vermont, 2015**

 

  
Coming in sight of the entrance to Coolidge Sam had to stare. The truck slowed to a crawl as Dean ducked his head a little, peering out at the blackened, still smoking earth from out the windshield. Sam too peered outside the passenger window. Authorities circled most of the area, rangers, police, fire fighters, a few ambulances but as far as Sam could tell the black fire had already ripped through the hilly landscape, decimating the forest as far as he could see. What trees remained looked like blackened twigs, upright but still smoking, hollow replicas of what they once were- now entirely bare. It looked like a warzone.

“Holy—”

“Pull up here.” Cas said and Dean did. As soon as they parked, Cas shot out of his seat, Dean then Sam following quickly. The reek of smoke and burnt remains was almost cloying, scorched hemlock and birch trees. Sam found his footing, stared out at the wreckage a moment more before shrugging into his jacket, checking his gun and following Cas’ fleet-footed stride with Dean tagging behind him. Cas walked as though he was several pounds lighter than the rest of them, but still managed to appear grounded, maybe it was in the way that he matched Dean step for step, each beside the other only a shallow breath away.

Sam almost ran into Dean’s back when he stopped still. He saw that Cas would have kept going if Dean hadn’t of grabbed the spirit by the shoulder, stilling him.

“Shit,” Dean said, turning back to Sam as Cas frowned at him over his shoulder. “Sam, you got any way to get past that?”

Looking past Dean, Sam could see deputies from Rutland county milling about; one in particular, a boy who looked better suited to being a freshman in college than a deputy—kid looked barely old enough for facial hair (of which he had none).

Sam tucked his hand into his jacket pocket and thumbed his FBI ID. He could feel the other officers and attendants starting to notice the three of them. “I only have the one badge.”

“This place feels wrong,” Castiel said quietly, and then, more slowly, “What passed through here, what destroyed…” he gritted his teeth and Sam watched as his hands curled into fists by his side. “It left a powerful taint.”

Sam turned his eyes toward the charred fields and blackened trees, where already tarps has been laid out over suspicious lumps. People. Sam swallowed down the weight that realisation caused. Beside him Cas fumed and Dean slid his hand up Cas’ corded arm.

“You can say that again.” Dean offered, trying for light-hearted, but Sam could hear how his voice cracked over the words. When Cas made a noise in his throat that Sam swore was almost a snarl, Dean ducked his head toward him and spoke gently. “Baby—”

Cas pulled away in such a manner that Sam knew it hurt Dean—his brother’s gaze dropped, his arm remained outstretched a moment, but then was quickly shoved into his pocket.

“Find a way through the obstacle,” said Cas walking back a few paces to the back of the car before he threw off his jacket and tore at his shirt. Sam watched till he realised Castiel was stripping down, right there, he threw his eyes to the surrounding men and women, hoping none would look too closely over as Cas shucked off his clothes “We must find out what did this.”

“Ain’t obstacles Cas, they’re people—damnit.” Dean scowled off in the direction Cas had flown, now a white crow, a stark contrast against the burnt out trees until he disappeared. Dean turned to Sam with a helpless expression, picked Cas’ clothes off the ground, looked around before throwing them into the car. “We shouldn’t split up. The guys who split up in all the movies, always _always_ end up fucked in the end.”

With his eyes on the nearest deputy, Sam clapped Dean on the shoulder and pressed forward. “Think I’ve got a plan, come on.”

Flying by the seat of his pants had never been Sam’s M.O. He was a guy all about the plan, about sticking to the plan, about forethought. Hunts were successfully solved that way, hell, every facet of Sam’s life was perfectly fine with being planned, and organised and thoroughly thought out.

Yet, since finding Dean and his goddamn packet of fabric softener, Sam’s plans just seemed to at best fall apart and at worst not even exist at all..

So seat of his pants it was.

Sam buried his pessimism in a calm breath and a kind but stern smile, slipping into the professional façade. He cleared a path through the onlookers and authorities, chose his target at a glance, and ignored the creeping feeling of a weight tying him down and of being trapped- when the young deputy’s eyes caught onto him and he straightened out his shoulders.

“Afternoon,” Sam said, the deputy - Ryan he noticed at a glance - stood tall, but not tall enough to come up past Sam’s shoulder. “My name is agent Shield.” He flipped open his badge, suspending the forgery just long enough to not ignite the kid’s suspicion. More than anything though Sam wished he was wearing his Fed suit instead of just a white shirt and blue jeans. It lent little to his credibility, but maybe it would be enough.

Deputy Ryan’s brows wormed into one thick, furry line. “Gee, you guys are quick.” There were dark circles under his eyes, but he exhibited nothing but annoyed self-confidence. Tidbits Sam noted and filed in case he would need them later.

Ryan nodded in the direction of Dean, taking him in for a moment longer than he had Sam. “Who’s he?”

Dean looked even less professional, his jeans were holey and his black shirt, though collared, was faded and worse for wear. Sam groaned internally.

“A consultant,” Sam answered on half-a whim. “Dr Michaels, works with biochemical contaminants and epidemiology—”

Ryan interrupted with an slightly dazzled expression. “Impressive, you don’t look like a doctor.”

It was then when Dean spoke up, that Sam felt himself step back a little, instinctively giving Dean room in the conversation. Almost as soon as Dean started speaking Sam regretted his inclusion.

“What can I say, got the looks and the brains,” Dean’s voice was purposefully lower than usual, his words drawling a little with a Kansas twang. He looked Ryan up and down, unmistakably a come on, and Sam felt his face heat- watching Ryan’s eyes widen in understanding.

“You’re not so bad yourself officer.” Dean smirked.

Deputy Ryan, eyes softening, cheeks flushed, cleared his throat then cast his hand and eyes to Sam. “Can I see that?” he asked and Sam passed his badge over, internally cursing Dean, who sucked on his lower lip with a smile.

Ryan glanced the badge over, barely worth the effort, handed it back to Sam before extending, a rather more eager hand to Dean. 

Sam noted he even looked a little disappointed, when Dean just shrugged his shoulders (again so unprofessional). “Sorry handsome, don’t have my own fancy card. Scientists y’know, kinda the bench sitters for the higher ups. No dental.”

An upwards kick of his lips, and Sam knew, and kinda hated, that Dean was a genius, and the kid was smitten.

“Oh yeah, right.” He laughed lightly, took his hand back and smiled. Ryan looked between the both of them but rested his eyes on Dean. “Like I said, you fellas got here quick; we haven’t even dug out all the bodies yet—not sure what you’re hoping to find.”

“Similar attacks have been popping up around—” began Dean. Sam jabbed his elbow into his side.

“Attacks?” Ryan asked, the flush in his cheeks lessening a little.

Sam heard Dean curse under his breath and rub at his side, _fuck Sam_ , he smiled in a way he hoped was reassuring.

“It’s classified,” Sam offered, then extended a hand forward into the site. “Excuse us.”

“Uh, sure.” Ryan stood aside as both Sam and Dean passed him. A couple steps back he called out. “Just—don’t touch anything yeah? I’ll get my ass handed to me.”

“That’s not so bad,” Dean called back with a wink. “Thanks handsome.”

And of course, Ryan blushed, and fiddled about with his tie.

Walking had never been so exhausting. The ground was treacherous, filled with hidden dips and half-raised roots, charred but solid, that seem deliberately placed to trip anyone passing through. It still smoked in places, rendered hot by the flames - and they made the choice to walk along the already cleared paths to save the rubber soles of their shoes from melting. With every step they were acutely aware of the few remaining tarp covered mounds that dotted the ground along their route.

Sam soon had dirt and ash stains on his jeans. A growing ache had started in his gut, spider webbing up his chest and down into his legs as he navigated each incline and decline, looking forward for Cas instead of around them.

“Really?” he asked once they were safely out of earshot of the authorities.

Dean at his side looked over with a serious pout. “What?”

Sam huffed, and tugged his hands into his pockets. “Cas doesn’t mind you flirting your way past red tape?”

Dean closed his mouth tight, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “Cas doesn’t care. We’re good Sammy.” He looked briefly back behind them, and spoke in a low voice. "You think he bought it?” Dean asked, keeping his eyes out ahead, on the task in front of them. “We gonna have any trouble?”

Sam leaned a little over toward him and whispered. "They still looking at us?"

"Yeah. I can feel their freaking eyes on the back of my neck," Dean hissed back.

Sam’s neck and shoulders ached, and it was probably from all the time spent at his laptop, but it wasn't as if he was doing that more than usual and usually he didn't ache this much.

The remaining bodies for collection were already smelling.

“Oh my god,” Sam managed trying to breathe through his mouth.

“Count to ten.” Dean blurted.

“What?”

Dean said it again. “Count to ten, if you’re upset or something. It helps.”

Sam sighed, running a hand over his face.

“Cas?” Dean broke out ahead. Cas—as a bird, Sam had to remind himself--was standing there amongst the rubble, on the edge of a tremulous tree branch blackened with ash and soot. Cas’ white feathers were mostly grey now, only his eyes retaining their usual light.

 _Here_. He spoke and a part of Sam, not for the first time, wished he’d kept the amulet around his neck; Cas’ voice a foreign intrusion inside of his head.

 _Everything is burnt, everything is scared_ . Cas said and it sounded deep like an echo in a cave. Sam understand why. The silence of the forest itself was unnerving. This forest doesn't have the same kind of feel that Cas’ had, something whole and alive and _living_. The creepiness of it, even when Sam realised what or who inhabited it, had never really gotten under his skin. But here, now, where he could see everything, almost as far as the eye could see.  Rolling his shoulders back Sam focused on the task at hand, and Dean stood firm beside them, and extended a hand which Cas flew down to sit on.

Like some sort of falcon tamer, except of course Cas was a crow, intense, dirty and pale, nonetheless his claws and beak looked sharp.

Dean trailed a finger down Cas’ spine, it came away blackened. “Weird,” he said and extended his hand out to the three of them to look at. “It’s not charcoal, it’s something el—ah fuck.”

Cas flapped up into the air when Dean jerked as though hit. He grabbed his finger with his other hand and swore.

“Dean, crap, you okay?” asked Sam.

“Stings, Jesus, kinda like it _burnt_ me.” Dean shook his finger out, bit at his lip and looked up. “You right ba—hey, man _clothes_.”

Sam jerked his eyes away as a _very_ naked Cas took Dean’s hand between both his own, shut his eyes and glowed a little. A second later, Dean pulled his hand back, his finger pristine and clean—not red in the slightest.

How they were not already arrested was beyond Sam.

The mist from Cas’s transformation curled round their ankles, the air seeming to thicken, stalled around the burnt earth.

Dean looked up from his healed hand and into Cas’ face. “Shit Cas put something on before they see you!”

“They can’t see me.” Cas said, then tilted his head, as though listening to something.

Sam fell out of the ensuing argument, his eyes were on the ground, watching the mist spreading out from beneath their feet, growing dense enough that he figured a flashlight wouldn’t be enough to penetrate it.

“Uh, guys?” 

Castiel cut him off. “They’re calling out to me,” he said hollowly. Removed from Dean removed from Sam, he looked dirty, bare against the blackened backdrop, staring down at the mist, thickening at their feet. “Can you feel it?”

Sam was about to say that _no, he couldn’t hear the spooky mystical thing calling to him_ , and could Cas please stop being so naked and hearing things that no one else could because it was incredibly unsettling, but the mist was growing thicker, Sam took half a step back and pushed against Dean’s chest.

“Get back.”

“Wha—”

Sam could hear it. Not a voice, nothing so obvious—just a strange humming, like a wordless lullaby sung to a child, the sound of wind through the invisible leaves of trees. “Cas—”

Cas whispered something, in a language Sam had never heard, closer to Sam now than he was to Dean. He crouched down, sunk into the mist and put his hand on the ground.

“Uh…got a problem coming up, fuck.” Dean said, and Sam hoped it was just the fog making him so nervous but when he looked out the officers were coming, Ryan leading the charge, at least two guys with their hands on their belts. “Cas, shift right, Sam and me’ll handle this, right?”

Cas looked up, and said both silent and aloud in one deep and sonorous voice; “ _It’s still alive_.”

Cas sunk about a foot down into the mist, like the ground was quicksand, just as the officers and deputies started yelling.

“What the—”

“Hey, you there!”

“Cas?”

Then there was a rustling, crackling sound and tight grip on Sam’s ankle. He staggered forward pushing Dean further away from Cas and the mist just as the sound of someone shouting started to ring out.

He staggered and he fell but the ground wasn’t there to meet him.

Something like water. 

“Sammy!”

Sam's heart dropped a beat. Dean sounded almost panicked just then, and a moment after he shouted, hands gripped his shoulder, his jacket- he felt it tear at the seams.

“Cas!”

Castiel further still into the mist, his mouth moving soundless, his eyes closed. On instinct Sam crawled backward through the mist, away from the hand that was trying to hold him back, he reached out for Castiel, trying to draw him back--

“Fuck!” That was Dean’s voice, and Sam hoped, god he hoped, that it was only the surrounding mist, now all over, that made him sound so distant.

“Fuck, Sammy. Cas, hold on!”

“Got you,” Sam said to Cas who didn’t react. He grabbed Cas by his shoulder (all that remained in sight) before being dragged forward with him into the earth. Misty tendrils then wrapped around Sam’s wrist, curled up his arm, his shoulder and jerked. "Crap. _Crap_!"

“Sam! Let go!”

Down he was pulled, down, down into the mist.

“ _SAMMY_!”

The only thing Sam was aware of after, was the surrounding white, then black, then nothing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tehehehe
> 
> Thank you all for your lovely support and messages xx 
> 
> If you'd like to support and spread this fic around, you can do so via the [following link on tumblr](http://soupernabturel.tumblr.com/post/153140692451/the-stag-and-the-hunters-son/)


	20. Chapter 20

**_  
_**

**???**

 

There was an instant of floating that Sam thought he would remember for the rest of his life. He’d always know that this was what it was like to fly, to be a part of the sky, of the air, something outside of his own mortal coil.

And then, suddenly, there was no air to hold him up.

Sam’s eardrums popped with the sudden change in pressure, a flare of nausea hit him and all at once he was falling. The world shifted, the burnt forest, Dean, the police all shimmered and fell away like a mirage.

Sam hit the ground hard and then he was rolling. Rolling down into a field of grass and wheat, momentum forced him head-over-heels. He caught glimpses of a golden world around him spinning, but as rolling and somersaulting over himself all Sam could do was spit out curses and try to slow himself down as he was slapped by weeds and stalks until finally rolling to a—

Something smacked hard against the back of Sam’s head and he was knocked out cold.

When he woke it was with a jerk, his eyes snapped open, breath coming in heavy, stuttered gasps. There was sweat on his skin but he was cool all over, felt as though rain was working its way down the back of his shirt, flattening his hair, dripping off the end of his chin. He shivered, concentrated on breathing, on the soft earth beneath him, between his fingers—

Earth.

Sam was on his back when he opened his eyes and stared at the cotton-puff sky above, as low as a house ceiling, made up of thick fog. He sat up, adrenaline pulsing through his bloodstream. He blinked and felt the sting of a hundred twinging cuts and bruises all over his body from his fall.The back of his head throbbed but when he touched a hand to his scalp it came away clean.

 _Dean_ , he thought instinctively, turned his head around and tried to gauge his surroundings. Disoriented, he struggled to his feet.

It was quiet, and Sam suspected there was no one else around. Not even the air was moving. He blinked and turned, left, right. On all sides there was open space, a flat almost-wheat field as far as he could see, breaking off into some sort of Martian landscape in the distance where he couldn’t discern one gold stalk from the other. Golden canyons, a land scorched - but when he looked up, again only white wisps, no visible sun, no visible _anything_.

"Dean!" Sam stumbled, found his footing after a moment. "Cas!"

No answer. No anything. Silence.

Sam sucked his lower lip in between his teeth and turned around, gaze passing again over the empty meadow.

He was almost out of it enough to miss the ground moving the first time.

On its second undulation, Sam fell on his ass, the whole world shuddered, shook then stilled. Then, like a slow morning stretch, the ground started to incline vertically, tipping Sam into a backwards somersault.

“Woah-woah woah-woah-woah! Hey! _HEY_!”

Sam scrambled onto his belly, dug his fingers into the wheat stalks and held on. Everything rose upward. Sam’s feet dangled beneath him into, into what his eyes told him was literal nothing. He gritted his teeth till he drew blood, trying to dig his feet into the ground around the wheat stalks. His hands started to slip, and slice on their coarse holds.

There was a rumble, three times the depth and reverberation of thunder, and then the earth moved, but not like before. All at once the land became not land at all, but something distinctly other, colossal and _alive_.

“Shit!”

_Sam?_

The land-creature wobbled, undulated out to its full height, Sam felt himself shoot up past the barrier of fog into a soft pink emptiness, a soft pink hue, the air so thin he began to choke.

“I—gah, ah—”

There were a thousand hands, a thousand things, like vines, curling around Sam’s waist and arms, sliding up his legs, cupping his face. Rustling and shuffling and whispering; a monster. With a sound like pulling Velcro apart they tugged at Sam until he couldn’t fight against them.The loss of air too much, he let go and was enveloped.

The smooth, slightly damp whips dragged Sam back down out of the pink sky, beneath the line of mist and—he sucked a breath in, able to breathe again. They coiled tighter around his limbs, velvety soft, and carried him through the air in an instant, swinging him around the whole of the hulking land-creature mass until he was met by a wall of solid marble.

Sam kicked and tore at his restraints with no effect, there was another thunderous sound, more of a distant rumble this time, and then the whip-limbs let him go only to snatch him out of the air again, this time holding Sam only by his waist, and forcing his attention up with a velvet smooth limb pressed up under his chin.

Then Sam saw that the mountain monster had eyes. _A_ _lot_ of eyes.

_Sam. Stop fighting. I don’t want to drop you._

Not a wall, not a monster, not a field. _Cas_ —because it was him. He was too massive to take in all at once, most of his—his _body_ seeming to disappear so far down Sam couldn’t determine the end of him or the beginning of the ground, it all obscured in dark mist. He was easily the size of a skyscraper.

Fucking _Cas_.

Sam did stop fighting, more so because he was being suspended at least a dozen stories about ground and less so because of the thing, Castiel, in front of him.

His mouth fell open as he met Cas’ eyes. Or at least, two or three of them. Each eye was about as large as his open hand, Hundreds lit up like blue lanterns. They floated about a smooth, almost carved face - not really human, not really inhuman. The texture of Cas’ face almost looked like plastic, but the substance was pearlescent and white like cleaned bone. Similar to the stag form Sam had seen him in before, Cas had a spiralling crown of branch and twig antlers that curled inward then out.

He was easily the size of a skyscraper. Sam had seen a lot of monsters in his life but none of them had ever come close to this. This thing, Cas, was something that could stomp out Tokyo.

From this vantage point, looking Cas face on—but still a little too close to take him in in his entirety— Sam could see that the wheat field he had woken up on was actually something closer to fur. It grew out of Cas’ otherwise skinny white form like a hooded cloak, with four armlike appendages peaking out from under it. Two of those arms held Sam now, their tentacle-like fingers wrapped securely around him.

Castiel stretched out an elongated neck, turning his face downward, as though a tortoise coming out from under his shell. His flame eyes fritzed and fizzled, all of them, Sam could tell, fixated on him.

Sam’s hand curled around one of the fingers holding him, as thick as a firefighter’s hose, he blanched. Cas’ skin was warm, smooth and slightly slick, a deep blue-ish gray. When he wasn’t fighting against him, Cas’ answering grip was incredibly soft.

“Holy shit,” Sam breathed, nervously aware that Cas’ grip was the only thing between him and emptiness. “Cas?” he asked, struggling against the whips a little in an attempt to look around.

 _Yes. It’s me._ Cas answered loudly, still sounding mildly irritated, as though he couldn’t understand why Sam would be a bit, shocked, being tentacle-nabbed by a giant, four-armed, stag-horned thing.

The wheat feathers all along Cas’ back moved constantly, shifting as though to a breeze that Sam was sure wasn’t there. As he watched, idly hypnotised by the movement, they suddenly sharpened into crystalline shards. He tore his gaze away, thanking God that it hadn’t been like that when he landed there.

Each crystal looked as sharp as a knife.

“You’re, wow...”

Cas rumbled, another sound that Sam could hear all the way back in his throat.

_I am. Now, stay still._

Cas’ fingers tightened around Sam, and in a gut swooping pull he was lifted forward toward Cas, in a way that could only be described as being cradled against his chest.

When Cas’ tentacle-fingers released him, Sam felt back on his butt. The palm of Cas’ third paw was cool. He could see the whole thing was lightly scaled like a chicken’s foot, but it was soft, and gentle, as though sitting on a firm mattress. Against the pressure of his hand, Cas’ marble humanoid chest was warm.

 _Are you injured?_ Cas asked, flingers curling up like wriggling walls around Sam, but still giving him some space.

They were moving, Sam realised when he had trouble finding his feet. Cas was taking them somewhere.

“No. I—” Sam didn’t know where to begin, so he began with the obvious, what was most pressing. “This is what you really look like?”

Cas’ neck curled down so that his face was hovering over Sam. His blue-flame eyes blazed, warm and inescapable. Sam felt roughly about the size of an ant, looking up at him.

_My nature is liminal, without confines and bounds but yes. For now, this is what I look like._

Sam swallowed and he thought, and then after a time asked; “has Dean—”

_No._

Sam fell back on his hands when Cas took a particularly forceful step. _It’s impossible to see my true form outside of this realm. Do you know where we are?_

Sam tugged at his sleeves, and tried not to think about how all strange this was; that this; creature—who demanded soy milk, loved his brother, hell was _married_ to his brother, was cradling him in his arms now, carrying him across another world.

“This is the spirit realm?” Sam said looking around at not much of anything now. When he’d woken seemingly Cas had been him whole world, but now— all he saw was coloured mist. “Your world.”

Cas made a sound that was almost a hum. It echoed. _The Land of Lost Gods. The Aether, Upper Air, this realm has a lot of names._

“You were sinking, I grabbed hold of you,” Sam began, thinking back to how they’d ended up here. He shivered and Cas’ hand beneath him flexed. “Dean didn’t come through with us?”

_No. I sense he is physically okay, but disturbed and worried. Our connection is weak with so much distance between us._

Sam nodded, looking up. Cas’ eyes were swirling around his head, suspended in the air. A couple dozen remained centred on him. “Okay so, there must be some way out.”

_I fear it won’t be that easy– I was summoned here, there were…voices, a touch. You, I’m sure, were an unfortunate tag-along._

“Thanks.”

Cas stilled with a quick jerk that felt massive to Sam. Unwitting, Sam found himself tipped closer to Cas’ chest until he was almost pined against it. Every crystal spine along Cas’ back and arms quivered and stood on end.

“Wait—Castiel.”

 _There’s someone approaching,_ Castiel murmured, but it came out thunderous anyway. He spun in such a way, tens of eyes flicking around, that Sam felt sick and his head swam. _Can you hear them calling?_

There was nothing, not anything out there. Sam climbed up between Cas’ curling fingers, (which tied around his ankles and his chest like seaweed), peering between them. He couldn’t see anything more than a few feet ahead of him, and then even, there was nothing to see from this high up.

"You sure it's not luring us into a trap?" he asked, but Cas just curled his fingers in further, making Sam have to duck to stay out of their encroaching way.

_It's not malevolent Sam, I'm sure of it._

"So if we just ignored it?"

_Why would we? Someone brought us here, they can take you back._

“Us back.” Sam corrected, arms curling around one of Cas’ fingers to keep his balance standing. “They can help the both of us back.”

 _Yes. Of course,_ said Cas obviously distracted. But everything was closing in on Sam, as though Cas’ hand was trying to make a fist. Walls on all sides closing in. His tentacle-fingers gripped Sam’s ribs so tight now, he could hardly breathe; “Cas!”

 _I’m sorry_ . A hundred blue flames flickered, dimmed. He held Sam up to his face now in an open palm. His fingers unwound from around Sam’s hips, his legs, a single whip stroked Sam’s side, then retreated entirely, fanning out, as a protective barrier around him.  A small amount of frustration crept into Cas’ echoing voice. _It’s difficult to maintain conscious control of my form in this dimension. If I could manifest as I do on earth, I would—_

Sam peered up at him. “It’s okay,” he said and meant it. “Doesn’t this make you feel powerful? You’re, uh, you’re larger than life right now.”

 _Thank you._ Cas said and his answer made Sam laugh. _But, no, actually. I feel…small._

Sam’s answering laugh was only a little nervous. He laughed, right up until he realised Cas wasn’t joining in. Swallowing it down, he patted Cas’ palm as though consoling him, squinted up at the blue lantern flame eyes. “You know; I actually think that that’s—”

There was crack like a tree being uprooted and all at once, Sam was being slammed against Cas’ chest by his hand and Cas was falling. Cas made a sound somehow at once like the scream of a kettle and a lion’s roar. Wind rushed against Sam like he was on a theme park ride, the speed with which Cas stumbled, pushed Sam back up against him, pinning Sam to his chest, hurt like a physical weight.

Cas landed with a crash and Sam toppled out of his hold, skidding across a ground that felt as though it was sand. He rolled, and lurched forward, catching himself on his hands.

“CAS!”

The sand he fell into floated up all around him, weightless, like tendrils of smoke, tendrils of smoke he couldn’t help but breathe in. It entered his mouth and his nose like air, filling Sam up, choking him. He had to fight to _breathe_.

 **You!** Boomed a new voice. Sam craned his neck upwards and was met, by a swirling orb of golden light shattering the fog around it. What could only be described as human arms with fists of fire burst out of the orb, engulfed Cas’ own flaming face with a steaming palm and lifted him up by it, stretching his vulnerable neck out.

 **Cernunnos,** said the orb and threw Cas by his face back to the ground, granulated earth geysered up around him. Everything shook and Sam scrambled away, as the golden giant pressed Cas down into the ground and towered over him.

 **Where is your Heart young one?** It asked Cas in a voice of metallic screeches.

It wasn’t so much a voice as it was a resonance, vibrating the mist around them, making Sam’s bones ache in his arms and fingers. His eyes stung but he still climbed up onto his feet, it was like trying to follow the path of a bird, flying in front of the sun.

Towering over Cas now, the new creature, made of mist and smog but with something reminiscent of fireworks bursting beneath the white, gold and red crackling in tune with its words.

**You are missing your Heart.**

_I—I gave it away._ Cas managed to get out, most of his flame eyes were out now, those that remained were orange and spluttering.

The orb creature sparked, lighting up the surrounding mist _._ **You’ve lessened yourself. Become lost.** It raised another fist.

“Stop!” Sam shouted, his voice cracking. He tasted copper. “Stop, please.” He yelled, trying to back away.

The face of a withered crone surged out of the orbs light, inches away from Sam’s and as big as a wall in front of him.

But it let Cas go, focused on Sam now. Castiel fell to the sandy earth, crumpled like a discarded toy.

Slow and terrifying, the almost human face, smiled. Its wrinkled eyes stayed closed, as though it too was nothing more than another mask. **My, my, how you glow.**

Another spirit like Castiel. Perhaps not of the forest, but Sam didn’t follow that thread of thought far. He knew this was no Green Man, Vanir or minor deity, but something ancient, maybe older even than Castiel. He knew only that it was hurting Cas, that it was dangerous.

Sam could feel his eyes filling at the brightness of the god, could feel every inch of himself drying out. He couldn’t look away.

Slow, Cas’ tendrils snaked around his waist and feet. They scooped Sam up like a discarded doll, and tucked him in close to Cas’ chest, forming a little nest to hold him in. Sam was only just aware of the tendriled fingers softening and widening around him, allowing him to lie back.

 _Sam—be quiet,_ said Castiel gently. He brought his masked face low and even with Sam’s. And close. Really close. Heat prickled Sam’s cheeks and he nodded, feeling like a scolded child. Up close now Cas’ face was less marble and more bone, a strange ivory plate made of easy slopes and weird, inhuman angles.

He gripped tight to Cas’ chest as Cas slowly lifted himself up off the ground.

 _Sister,_ Cas said slowly, painfully, trying to get the words out. _Please. I need help. Something has tainted me, and I can’t—_

The golden spirit flared, its crone face frowned dramatically.

 **Has it been been so long that you’ve forgotten the voice of your own kin?** It floated forward, and Castiel shrunk back, Sam could feel it and bit hard on his lower lip to keep from saying anything. The closest of Castiel’s fingers he grabbed with his whole hand and squeezed. Holy shit was he glad Dean wasn’t here.

**Their cries, their hurt. It’s their pain inside you now. Why do you ignore them?**

Cas’ fingers curled around Sam tighter, his whole faux nest shivered.

_My kin?_

The golden spirit descended, circling one recognisably human hand around Castiel’s throat.

Sam watched as strange black shapes rippled up Cas’ arm, like ants crawling under the skin. He remembered Castiel sucking the black from Ben Braden’s body, remembered the others Cas had helped. It was as though the same thing was happening in reverse. The thing that was Cas’ skin began to flake off from Cas’ throat where beneath the black was moving, twisting, surging, like a boil being brought to the surface to burst.

Sam couldn’t get out from between Cas’ fingers. “Cas!”

The golden spirit drew back, and there around Cas’ neck, the black had turned into a swollen, pussy thing amongst his strange reptilian skin and crystalline spines. Drawn out to the surface, it pulsed, looking painful and raw.

Cas’ fingers lessened from around Sam’s body. He sagged forward, curling over Sam like a cradle.

He gasped. _Thank you,_ then tentatively added _. Sister._

All his flaming eyes but a couple were zeroed in on the other spirit.

Spinning, burning, the golden spirit retreated. **Leave now.** Its human face sunk back beneath the rippled light of its body. **Go back to your Heart, go back to your earth and your humans. Give us the mercy of a forgotten realm once more.**

Sam climbed halfway out of Cas’ hand, staring at the retreating sun.

 _Sam._ Cas said, but didn’t say anything else. He just lifted Sam up, up through the mist and brought him in close to his face. _It’s okay._ His massive head cocked to one side, somehow familiarly endearing. It made him look human and at the same time, like a clever, feral thing.

Slowly, Sam nodded and then sat down when Cas placed him back in his arms.

Cas getting to his feet, or what Sam thought would be Cas’ feet—again, Sam couldn’t see down that far—was a slow process. Moving even slower; his whole form swayed with every step.

 The black around his throat was something like a collar.

After a long time of silence, Sam tilted his head up to Cas’ face, and spoke. “You said Pamela healed you, you told Dean—”

 _I never said that._ Cas cut in, and made a sound almost like a sigh. He shuffled forward, every step felt as though it was being dragged. He tripped once and Sam was thrown forward into Cas’ hands. He scrambled back to Cas’ chest, held onto whatever was close not wanting to fall again.  

_I didn’t want him to worry._

Sam nodded. There was a tightness in his chest. He tugged a hand through his hair, there was a pressure building up in him, not quite anger, not quite despair. The black infection looked like it was painted on Cas’ skin, clearly swollen. “It looks painful.”

_Dying always does._

Sam swallowed and leaned against the backs of Cas’ chest. Cas radiated heat, like the hood of the Impala on a summer’s day. Maybe Cas had a fever. Despite himself, Sam sagged into the warmth.

“Is that... you're dying?”

 _Fear always feels like dying_. Their eyes met then. Cas’ gaze was too piercing and sad to hold for long. Bitter and thick shame rose up in Sam’s throat.

“Cas—”

 _Here. Cas_ grunted, coming to a stop. The place where he stood was no more recognizable than anything else, shrouded and hidden by mist. Sam wondered for a moment if it really was a misty realm, or whether his human eyes just couldn't take anything in. Cas shifted erratically, enough that Sam held onto him. Then, low like the first note of a lullaby, he hummed softly. _I feel him again. My_   _Heart_...

Cas’ eyes flickered and burst, glowing brighter. They stilled after a moment, a collection all turning on Sam. _I think we can go home through here._

Sam swallowed again.

“Castiel,” he inhaled deeply, screwing his courage, and before he could stop himself he reached up, as high as he could, and touched his palm to Cas’ chest.  “He needs to know, you’re really sick. You have to tell him.”

 _I’m not ill, this is all starting to make sense now._ Cas’ breathing was labored, careful, as if he were afraid he might exhale too hard and blow Sam away. _This is good Sam._

“You have to tell Dean.” Sam said again, a little harder. “Or I will.”

Bending low, Castiel held Sam in one hand. The other three sunk low into the mist beneath them, claws and vines extended out, digging into the earth. After a moment, Sam gasped and a pressure popped behind his eyes. Slow, like lazy rain, the world fell away.


	21. Chapter 21

**_  
_**

**Coolidge State Forest, Vermont, 2015**

 

Sam had been doing this job for longer than he sometimes cared to think about, and during that time he had been subjected to a myriad of shitty feeling things. But this, falling, landing, seeming to be turned inside out, would always and forever be the shittiest feeling.

Sam picked himself off the burnt ground and coughed. He was covered, head to toe in charcoal and ash, still a little warm against his skin.

"Cas," he croaked, throat hoarse and aching. "You okay?"

There was no answer.

Sam opened his eyes. It was evening, just before sun set, there was still some red and blue across the horizon, the sun low and sinking lower. Cas was lying in front of him, naked, human, albino? His now white hair was sooty and covered in ash, like the rest of his body, but there was no mistaking it, his hair was white.

Sam pushed himself up to his knees, every inch of him singing out in an ache that was bone deep. “Cas?’

Cas didn’t move. Even in the low light Sam could see the swollen, bloody bruising there around his throat, looking worse on a recognisably human body, looking painful.

Sam dragged himself through the burnt forest, grasped for his phone in his pocket unsurprised when the thing was out. But still, he'd _hoped_.

“Shit,” he said tossing the phone aside for now. He clawed his way to Cas’ side, reached out with one hand aiming to shake Cas awake. “Cas—”

Sam let out a desperate gasp when Cas pounced, throwing his lean body against Sam, knocking him to the ground. Sam thrashed, pinned beneath Cas, who looked like some sort of animal, frenzied and unreasoning, emotionless. But, his eyes held a terror and rage that Sam would have shied away from if he could. Cas bared his teeth, pinning Sam with his arms and knees, and there was only something of a warning snarl, a flaring of his nostrils before…

He gasped, a ragged breath dragged over shards of glass, rolled off of Sam and into the soot.

“Shit,” Sam gasped, climbing up on his hands. He looked over at Cas’ whose eyes were nearly closed, only a sliver of deadly blue gleaming out from beneath his lashes. He was shaking. This time Sam didn’t try to touch him.

 _Apologies_ Cas managed, his voice in Sam's head after a minute that crawled. Cas pressed his forehead into the ground, breathing deep in a huddled position Sam had to look away from. Every inch of the other man was visibly trembling.

“I'm fine,” he said out loud (sounding the very definition of _not fine_ if Sam had anything to say about it).

Sam said nothing and took off his shirt. Ignoring the chill, he threw his flannel to Cas, who took it after a moment by curling his fingers in its sleeve.

In just a tank now, Sam shivered. The encroaching night cool. “Fuck.”

“Yes,” Cas agreed and dragged himself up to sit. He tied Sam’s shirt around his waist, covering himself when he noticed Sam trying to look anywhere else. “I’m surprised you survived the journey.”

“Screw you,” Sam said but it came out as some kind of laugher. Broken and hysteric. He looked across at Cas at least somewhat covered, and truly noticed then Cas' condition. “You’re bleeding.”

Cas touched a dirty hand to his bare chest, streaking soot and ash across tanned skin. The dirty black stood out starkly against his weakly seeping cuts. Cas made a sound like a huff, then a click, then looked away. “I’m fine.”

“Cas—”

“I’ll heal.” Cas brushed Sam's concern aside and looked around. Perhaps he thought his words reassuring, but they came out flat and grave. “I need to call Dean.”

Sam stretched out across the ground, picked up his phone and wriggled it. “Phone’s out I…course,” he cut off, watching Cas as he knelt down, pressed both palms to the ground in the same manner Dean had done days ago. A breeze blew through the dead forest, prickling Sam’s skin, blowing out his hair. In a moment it was gone, and Sam felt only colder. Smaller than before.

“He’s coming,” Cas said and folded his hands back in his lap. He’d look almost peaceful, if it weren’t for the blood, ash and dirt. He’d already stopped bleeding, Sam noticed, his blood darkening as it clotted in whip like slices across his chest. No more trace of the blue flaming spirit, fingers, hands, two eyes, two arms. He was just human, fragile, _albino_ , but human.

Sam climbed up onto his feet, every part of him cracking and popping with the effort.

"We should go, this is a crime scene, if we’re caught--"

“Dean’s coming.” Cas said. Sitting resolute, he closed his eyes.

Sam glanced around. The night's silence manifested physically, there was no one around, nothing near. "Is he far?" Sam asked, then thought back to his last moment with Dean, Dean's anguished voice, the police approaching. A fist begun to form in Sam's chest, one he was familiar with, one he had carried around behind his ribs for the last ten years, wondering, worrying whether he'd ever see his brother again.

"Is he okay?"

Castiel lowered his head, looking worried, or as worried one could when only their eyes and the one side of their lips moved. "I sense he's okay." Cas answered slowly. "He must have found a way to avoid the authorities when he left. I don't know where he has been but, he’s coming."

“How long?” Sam asked.

Cas shrugged.

"But can't you just sense _where_ he is?"

Castiel frowned, shook his head.

"Alright,” Sam said. He wiped his hands on his jeans. “Then we should get moving. Getting picked up…naked, at a crime scene isn’t going to look good, we can head along the road, you can let Dean know,” he glanced at Cas and saw he wasn’t listening. Instead, his head was cocked to one side, and he was staring off into the dark, with no real focus.

The black around his neck looked almost like a collar.

“Or we could wait here for Dean.” Sam said tiredly, sitting back down in the dirt and soot. Everything ached.

Cas didn’t say anything, he just looked off towards the road.

In silence, the two of them waited.

 

 

 **_  
_** ****

**[Dolly](http://usagui123.tumblr.com/) **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love art by the wonderful Dolly! Check out and reblog her adorable artwork of Dean and Cas [here](http://usagui123.tumblr.com/post/155796164797/a-cute-drawing-made-by-me-inspired-by-this/)
> 
> People making art of this fic just, it just is so lovely, thank you Dolly!


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out and support this fic on **[Tumblr](http://soupernabturel.tumblr.com/post/156413635221/the-stag-and-the-hunters-son/) **

**_  
_**

**Stowe, Vermont, 2007**

Dean started off his morning bringing in the load of laundry from outside, meticulously folding all the lights in one basket, followed by the darks. He shook them out then folded three of Cas’ woollen sweaters and quickly shoved a black slip of a chiffon mini in amongst the holey jeans and tank tops, hoping none of the neighbours has seen. All of Dean’s energy went into gathering everything up, and bringing it all inside.

He ironed, he folded.

He headed off to the kitchen sink and filled it up with detergent.

And when the dishes were washed and soap suds were up to Dean’s elbows, he dried off his hands, turned around, and saw Cas sitting there at the table, human, in one of his laundered shirts (and nothing else), left unbuttoned.

The entire morning so far had been such a disgusting display of adulthood that it could only be counteracted by walking over to Cas and messing up the guys now peacock blue hair.

“Dean,” Castiel huffed, but he did so through a smile. Reaching up to swat Dean’s hands away, he grabbed one, held it, and smiled a smile that showed off his gums.

“Morning Sunshine,” Dean greeted, detangling Cas’ hand from his own. He reached up and gentle this time, smoothed Cas’ hair back from he sweaty forehead, hand curling down and around his ear—he wondered when Cas had gone out and brought the dye.  “Hmm, I think the green was better.”

Like a pleased cat, Cas closed his eyes, spread his bare legs apart so he could draw Dean between them. “Perhaps, but this is a nice colour.” His fingers bumped against Dean’s when he carded his own fingers through his hair. “I like how it looks in the sun.”

“You dork,” Dean said, scruffing Cas’ hair once more before he stepped back and away. Coffee, coffee, did he still have any soy? It had been a while since Cas had been round, did soy go off?

He asked; “when’d you get in?”

“This morning, I stayed outside.”

Dean looked over at Cas and cocked an eyebrow. “Should have come woke me up man, haven’t seen you in awhile.”

This time when Cas smiled, a quiet thing, Dean could see the bags beneath his eyes, the exhaustion there in the lines on his face.

“Spring is tiring.” Cas admitted, with a human-like shrug.

Dean filled up the coffee pot and set it to roast.

“All the new babies, yeah,” said Dean, fishing for two cups, no soy but it would have to do. He pulled out a chair. “Y’know the human mum’s around here are gonna start requesting home visits.”

“Humans have hospitals. They don’t need me.” Castiel replied from across the table. He cast Dean a baleful blue eyed stare, made only the more penetrating by the blue of his hair. “And you must stop offering people favours from me for services.”

Dean laughed. “Oh come on, it works great! They get some help from you—you get some good will from them. We get groceries and new tires, and food. It’s for _survival_.”

Castiel looked at him, brow raised. “So those weekly pies from Mrs James are imperative for your survival?”

“Ain’t broke. Don’t fix it, man.” Dean grinned, and scooted his foot across the floor between them. Toes bumped into Cas’ ankle, Dean smirked and rubbed his socked foot up and down Cas’ leg.

“Be that as it may, I…”

Dean smirked. “Yeah?”

“Mmm.” Cas hummed and sunk as low in his seat as he could to try and prompt Dean’s touches higher. “Keep touching me please.”

Dean laughed and scooted a little closer, stroking with a little more intent the defined muscles of Cas’ calf, his shins, the inside of his thighs. He drew back when the coffee was done though, rising up out of his seat. He’d only poured one cup before Cas was sliding up behind him, arms on his waist sneaking up under his shirt.

“Good morning,” Cas murmured again and softly grabbed at Dean’s sides.

Dean turned around so he was backed up against the kitchen bench, he curled and linked his hands up behind Cas’ neck, only lifting his arms so Cas could slide his shirt up and over his head, and bring them flush together, naked chest to naked chest. As soon as Dean was bare Cas swayed forward, hips together, legs slotting between Dean’s He leaned in and licked a long flat line over Dean’s collarbone, a constant almost purr filled up the air between them, instead of any words.

Pressed together like this Dean could feel _everything_. The Cas that was currently very human very physical, but also the other Cas, the one that seemed somehow, bigger than his body in any given form, wrapped up in the air around Dean, like an aura or something and it was that that was purring, that was curling around Dean now.

Knowing and feeling that part of Cas made Dean’s chest swell.

“Weren’t you groaning on about something?” Dean asked playfully. He reached out absently to clutch and stroke the sharp jut of Cas’ hipbone.

Castiel broke out into a gummy grin against Dean’s throat. The feeling of it sent a delicious wriggle up Dean’s spine.

“You are infuriating Dean Winchester.” Cas growled. He reached up and pressed a kiss to the cut of Dean’s jaw, dragging the rest of his kisses down Dean’s neck.

Dean let out a sound that _was not_ a whimper. But fuck, yeah, Cas always felt good.

He let Cas trail kisses up and down his neck, across his chest, and shuddered, hands squeezing and slipping around to the defined muscles of Cas back when Cas’ stubble scraped against his sensitive skin. His hands kicked into motion, moving up under his own shirt to work it off Cas’ shoulders.

“But you love me,” Dean hummed. Somehow, the vibrations of the words struck resonance with something else in the universe and everything around him was brought together and put in its place.

It was stupid, no…not _stupid_ , but it still made Dean feel uncomfortable a little, to feel safe in someone’s arms, because that brought up the question of ‘ _are we ever really safe?_ With Cas, whether they were curled sleepily up against each other, standing side by side or just sitting on opposite sides of the breakfast table Dean always felt protected, watched over. Freakin’ _loved._  

Cas was… Cas was his best friend. His brother, his partner, his everything.

Dean had never felt like this, so safe, and loved by family before. Not since Mom.

Dean reached across and pulled Cas close into a unpractised kiss. It was an awkward angle, but they soon adjusted to the shift and soon Dean was really pressed back against the bench. Cas was really into the whole kissing thing which made it a treat whenever they did it. He licked into Dean’s mouth and made short, breathy sounds when either of them would drawback to breathe. Fingers clutching. Soon the air felt saturated in heat.

“I love you,” Cas breathed against his cheek. Dean’s breath was stolen so he said nothing just laughed, leaning away, as Cas tried to chase his lips with his own.

Dean sunk back against the kitchen bench. He rolled his hips forward a little, one hand back behind him to give him a little leverage. “Dork.” He said and Cas purled, frotting forward.

Cas could say that he loved Dean every moment of every day for the next ten years, and Dean still wouldn’t be able to rid himself of the niggling guilt. He could do as he was doing now; fiddling with the button on Dean’s jeans, finally getting rid of his opened shirt.  

He could even take a bullet for Dean and there still would be times, darker times, when Dean would feel crushed under a tonne of guilt.

It sucked.

“Dean,” Cas said then, calloused palms came up to rest on either side of Dean’s jaw. He blinked and Cas was there, blue eyes, ridiculous blue hair. He smiled, and Dean smiled back, leaning forward to tip their faces close together. “Be here, with me.”

“I am.” Dean frowned, wondered if Cas could feel it against his forehead.

When Cas exhaled, Dean did too. A moment of quiet within which it was easy to reset, take a step back and count to ten, and think about how freaking lucky he was. Dean opened his eyes after, having realised he’d closed them and smiled, because he had to. Cas’ palms smoothed down his face, down his neck, over his chest. His strokes were long and steady and shooting heat right into Dean’s skin. And wasn’t that the damnedest thing; when he remembered to take deep breathes, and clear his head a bit, it actually did help.

Dean’s muscles unknotted, his thoughts petered out, and Cas returned to the issue at hand. The issue of getting off.

It was easy to fall back into Cas, into his familiar warmth and familiar touches. A part of Dean, the part that had been a strung out series of one night stands, of low self-esteem and still was in awe of how nice it could feel sometimes, being familiar with another person who in turn was familiar with you. Familiar with their body but still excited by every movement.

Dean had never really thought he would be _that_ guy. The kind of guy who’d be into monogamy. Into _this_.

Cas pressed up against Dean, backing him into the bench with a full body roll. He kissed and licked his way down, down, down, as always paying Dean’s stomach that extra bit of attention, which was both mortifying and weirdly arousing. Dean smoothed his fingers through Cas’ hair, moved his hips a little to set Cas back to task.

Cas had Dean’s pants around his thighs quick as a flash of lightning, having had plenty of practice. Dean was almost sure that Cas had some sexy undressing powers, given how much time he spent out of clothes.

Dean was a little more than half hard when Cas took him into his mouth. Cas’ lips stretched, got dark and shiny with spit and, and fuck he swallowed Dean down so slowly that Dean’s head started to spin. Cas held him steady while Dean tried to thrust up, getting lost in Cas’ mouth with the way Cas’ tongues and lips slid so sweetly over him.

Which was probably why a whine punched out of Dean’s gut when Cas pulled back, sitting on his heels he stared out at a fixed point past Dean’s hip, head cocked.

Dean groaned, hand back down on the bench and looked up from Cas’ head at the ceiling.

“I have to go.” Cas said, squeezing Dean’s thigh as he got up to his feet.

Dean’s little, depraved, horny heart broke and his dick was cold. He sighed. “Do you need to be there for _every birth?”_

Cas tossed him a look over his shoulder, a look that very much said; ‘yes’.

“Okay, okay I get it. Go, go.” Dean waved him off, and pressed back against the bench, heavy and fired up and a little disgruntled. He gestured down to his spit slick cock. “I’ll just, deal with this. Jerk off in the sink, sad. Alone.”

That cracked a smile out of Cas, but already his eyes and mind were far off. “Please don’t. We wash dishes there.”

“You mean I wash dishes there."  
  
“I help.”

“Whatever,” Dean sighed. Cas afforded him a small smile at that, deliciously naked now, he leaned back into Dean and pecked a kiss to his chin.

Dean took his dick in hand, goddamnit, and grabbed at the waistband of his pants with the other. “I won’t.” he said. “But it’s taking a lot of effort.”

“Your species is remarkably resilient,” said Cas, tight, pert, fucking _beautiful_ ass padding out of the kitchen. “You will survive.”

Cas changed as soon as he was out the front door, sinking down onto four legs, sprouting fur, handsome antlers. He was off into the forest, Dean having to shut the door behind him. The burn under Dean’s skin of unreleased arousal was something of an inch now. He shifted into the kitchen, adjusted, no playing with himself damnit, in his sweats and tucked Cas’ unused coffee mug into its place. He leant over the sink, turned the tap and caught some water in his hand, wiping it over his face.

Damn, what had he planned to do again today?

A knock sounded on the front door. Dean turned and headed for it, swiping the water off his face.

Maybe Cas had ditched the forest’s critters in favour of riding Dean’s dick, or Dean riding his. Both. Both were good, delicious, warm thoughts. Thinking on them a moment made Dean incredibly pleased. But the knocking.

“Knocking? Dude, this is as much my place as it is yours for Christ’s—” Dean opened the door.

For a hot minute, he wondered if he was being pranked, because no one was there.

“Excuse me?”

Dean looked down.  

There was a little kid standing there in front of him.

Instantly Dean hid a little more behind the door, shifting his hips away, far away, from the little girl.

“Uh,” his brows furrowed, he closed the door a little more still. The girl, frizzy hair, dark features, couldn’t have been older than nine or ten, she was wearing the local middle school colours, all blues and blacks. Dean stared down at her, brain firing on empty. “What’s up?”

The girl looked up at him with big brown cow-eyes and a stern expression. “Is Mr. Castiel home?” she asked, swinging her backpack around to her feet, she zipped it open.

Shit.

Dean glanced down the road, off into the trees, no car, no other person no anything. Did the kid friggen walk here? “Uh, Cas is, out,“ he said slowly. “What are you doing here, shouldn’t you be at school? Where are your—”

A plastic lunchbox was roughly shoved into Dean’s gut. With an ‘off’ he bent over, god that actually hurt. But the kid, figuring Dean wasn’t holding the thing, took the lunch box back in hand and rifled through it.

“I brought this.” She said, taking out a crustless sandwich and a packet of chocolate chip cookies. “Mum said if I ever needed to get help from Mr. Castiel, I needed to give him ah, ah off-ing.”

“An _offering_?” Dean asked coming out from behind the door. He looked down at the preferred food. It was a little hard not to laugh.

Over the last two years he’d found some weird, some touching offerings outside his door for Cas, as if Cas even needed such things now to help out the people in town but still they kept coming. A whole bunch of things, some really useful some, emotional.

But never a kid’s own school lunch.

“Yeah,” said the girl. She looked down at her sandwich considering. “It’s PB and J.”

That was... Dean blinked. “That’s, cool. But uh, what are you—”

“Krissy Chambers hit a bird!” The girl exclaimed, a shrill sound.

“ _What_?”

“Krissy, she was heading to school and I was heading to school, and I saw her while I was walking and she was crying and—”

Shit, she was getting worked up and breathless, crap was she going to cry? Before he really thought about it Dean got down onto her level, suddenly aware he wasn’t wearing a shirt, he stopped from reaching out to touch her, instead just made his voice as soft as he could manage. “Alright kid, uh, just stay there, no come in for a sec.” he got up, moving out of the doorway and headed off into the hall...shirt... shirt... where had Cas thrown his shirt?

“Let me just get some-some clothes. Just a sec.”

He swept his shirt off the kitchen floor seconds before the kid followed him in. She looked little in his home, Dean wasn’t used to having children over. He worked on the buttons, painfully aware of the girl walking around, looking at everything at least she wasn’t touching anything.

She opened the fridge wordlessly and looked inside. Poking her whole head in, as though the fridge was something that could swallow her up. She peeked around the door, and assessed Dean with all the severity of a ten-year-old.

“Mr. Castiel lives here?” she asked, moved aside and closed the door.

Dean ran a hand through his hair, it was what, nine am? Too early for this shit. “Sometimes, look kid.”

“Aisha,” said Aisha. She shifted her bag over her shoulder in a shrug. “You fixed my mum’s car.”

Yeah Dean kind of remembered that. Nasim, she’d been nice, desperate to fix her car that was probably older than her three kids combined. A Chevrolet El Camino, in admirable knick too if Dean remembered fixing it up last year correctly. He respected the classics, respected the people who owned them. Nasim had been a woman who seemed to care for her car, and more than that, appreciated that Dean had cared for her car. She’d been nice. Her car just as, it hadn’t been his dad’s 67’ Chevy Impala, but…

Thinking of Baby, had a dense, sour ball settling in Dean’s throat.

Stop, no, focus on the matter at hand.

Dean breathed in. He then breathed out.

“Aisha?” Dean began, Aisha nodded. “You said, uh, Krissy…had a crash?”

Aisha nodded. “Krissy Chambers, yeah, she hit a bird in her car.”

Crap. It wasn’t uncommon to hit stuff on these forest roads, stuff was running out in front of traffic all the time. The roads were littered with bodies leading out of town, Dean knew that better than most, considering he and Cas had made a habit over the last couple of years of clearing the road sides, cleansing and anointing the bodies (that were still recognisably bodies that was) and burying them out in the woods.

Dean knew Krissy Chambers, young, a go getter, still in her senior year of high school, one of the local girls.

Dean shrugged on his jacket, and his boots with no socks. He walked Aisha out of the house, locking the front door behind her.

“Is Mr. Castiel gonna come fix the bird?” Aisha asked him as they headed out onto the road away from town. The nearest high school was a bit outside of everything, if Krissy was driving, she would have been coming along this road.

Dean took a breath to gather his patience, and insisted of “He’s a bit busy right now. Let’s focus on making sure Krissy isn’t hurt yeah? Was she hurt?”

“She was crying.” Aisha said, he little legs going fast. Crap the girl could walk. “I think she was scared.”

“Just scared?” Dean questioned, but Aisha streaked out ahead, crossed the road on her own, crap were kids her age even supposed to do that? Shit. “Hey Aisha!”

“This way!” she called out, striking out ahead.

Dean set off after her.

“Fuck.”

Not for the first time in the last couple of years, he cursed Cas, his dumb obligations, and the all together too personal and too intertwined people of the small town they both loved so much.

 

________

 

Aisha slowed down when they came to a car by the side of the road. More in the ditch than anything.

“Oh,” Dean breathed as they rounded from the back, coming up along the old Sedan’s side.  There was a bird lying on the road a little way ahead. Still and dead. “She did hit a bird.” He said coming closer.

“Yeah,” Aisha exclaimed, with more enthusiasm than Dean thought the whole mess deserved. “It hit the window!”

Dean noticed this as he passed around the Sedan’s front. There was a decent crack in the windshield, the bird was undoubtedly dead, the crack worth at least a few hundred dollars to fix up.

“I can see that.” He said.

Aisha pointed wildly. “It cracked the glass!”

“Umm, yeah,” Dean rounded on the Sedan’s side. Krissy was there with her head in her hands on the steering wheel. She didn’t look hurt, there was no sign of injury or anything out of normal. No sign of impact or head wound, no blood, but she could have a concussion, Dean’s gut twisted at the thought. “Uh, Krissy? Karen’s kid yeah?”

Krissy Chambers peeled her face off the back of her hands. Looking up, her wet eyes widened, her whole face burst into colour. “Oh my _god_.”

Aisha crawled up between Dean’s hips and the car, squishing her face against the window. “I couldn’t get Mr. Cas Krissy. Sorry,” she tapped on the glass and then smiled up at Dean. “But I found his husband instead!”

“Buddy-wait, boyfriend, just—” Dean scooched Aisha aside as she giggled. He knocked on the side window, mimed for Krissy to crank it. She did, begrudgingly, Dean pretended to not see her wipe at her eyes and face.

“You okay kiddo?” he asked when It was open.

“Ugh,” Krissy groaned, her voice cracked around it. She was back to being ramrod in her seat, arms held out in front of her. “I’m _fine.”_

“Yeah.” Dean said, he reached inside the car, and slowly, peeled Krissy’s fingers from the steering wheel. One by one, so stiff they almost didn’t move. “You’re fine.”

Krissy shoved her hands under her arms, crossed them over her chest. “Was just a dumb, _dumb_ _bird_.”

“Dead dumb bird now.” Dean offered.

Aisha giggled.

Krissy turned her face away from them both, looking out the other side. Dean almost missed the way her shoulders shook. “And the window, god fuc—”

“It’s just a chip, it’s fine.” Dean cut in. Looking around to the front. Yeah, a chip and a crack what mattered most was that no one was dead. He glanced across at the road.

Well, almost no one.

“This is my _mum’s_ car.” Krissy struggled, whirling around to glare at him. She threw her hands out a little tough in the small space. “I don’t have the money to pay for this!”

“Hey, hey now it’s all good,” said Dean. He rapped on the bonnet and walked around. Worked his mouth into a smile which, honestly wasn’t too hard. He wasn’t a saint after all. He licked one thumb, reached out and smoothed it over the chip in the glass, yeah some of the cracks were only scratches and the chip wasn’t too deep, not as bad as it looked, not as bad as it _could_ have been.

“Doesn’t look too bad.” He said then rounded on the bird, taking a few steps towards it. He knelt down. The crow’s neck was twisted horribly. “Damn.”

He felt Aisha come up behind him and was lost for a moment, in the first time he ever saw a dead body, not unlike this. Well, not unlike in the way that it had been out in the middle of nowhere, but aside from that the scenario had been completely different.

For one there had been a lot more guns, a lot more blood and a lot more Dean covered in it.

Dean looked to Aisha and wondered If he was supposed to shield her from this, try and avert her attention or tell her the bird was sleeping.

“It’s dead.” Aisha said, looking up at him.

That solved that mystery then. Dean let out a breath he hadn’t even been aware he was holding. God kids were just so much responsibility, even when they weren’t your own.

“It was an accident, it’s okay.” Dean said, going for reassurance. Treating kids as adults that was a good thing right? He’d been treated as an adult as a kid and he turned out—

Dean had to hold back a snort at that. The truth shockingly sad. He knelt down beside the bird, considered it a moment, its twisted neck, its glassy, wet, open eyes.

Damn, since shacking up with Cas this sort of crap never got any easier. Being gentle and slow Dean scooped the dead bird into his hands.

He looked at both girls over his shoulder. “It’s, uh, gone onto a better— _ah_!”

There was a burning heat then a sharp sting. Dean cried out while both Krissy and Aisha screamed. The crow cawed and smacked its wing against the air, flapping and scratching in a flurry of feathers and movement. Dean fell back on his ass as the bird launched its way into the air, screaming caws. It sagged, flapped and flew away, clawing its way up into the air and out of sight.

“It’s okay!” Aisha beamed, coming up to Dean’s side, she leant on him heavily, wrapped her small arms around his arm in a hug.

The bird was a speck now, disappearing into the overcast sky. Overcast, that had happened quickly. Dean shook out his stinging hand, swore internally. There was nothing there no scratch marks from claws, or bite marks or anything else. Though his skin was a little red, and his palm felt raw and tender.

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing his hand across his chest. “Must have just knocked itself out, or something.” He got to his feet.

Aisha squeezed his arm.

Rounding back to the driver’s side of the car, Dean rapped on the window with his knuckles. He bent down. “Hey, Kiddo.”

“Krissy,” said Krissy. She still looked pretty shook.

“Krissy.” Dean gestured to the windscreen. “It’s fine this happens all the time.”

“You don’t get it,” Krissy grit out. “Mum’ll _kill_ me.”

By Dean’s side Aisha nodded. “ _Kill_ _her_.” She empathized. Dean short her a smirk.

“This car is everything, look at that!” Krissy cried, pointing at the crack, her breathing came in quick. “I don’t have the kind of money to pay for that!”

“Okay,” Dean said. He reached in through the window and grabbed the door handle, opening up the car. “Move over.”

“What? Hey!”

“Come on,” Dean shooed Krissy over, sliding into the front seat. She struggled, kicking him in the hip and shoulder as she was half shoved, half climbed over to the passenger’s side. It took some work to get behind the wheel, Krissy had her seat pulled so far forward toward the dashboard that Dean’s kneecaps were almost up his nose. He adjusted everything.

“Come on Aisha.” He said, prompting the young girl to get into the back, while Krissy fumed in the passenger’s seat.

Aisha jumped in and smiled at him in the rearview mirror. “Are we going to school?” she asked.

“Yep.” 

Krissy glanced over, one hand self-consciously reaching up to touch her face. “What?”

“I’m gonna get you guys to school, then, I’m gonna take this girl here over to Dave’s,” Dean slid his hands onto the car’s wheel, being careful. “And we’ll deal with this.”

For a moment Krissy was silent, then she said very quietly. “I don’t have the money.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Dean said, turning to her. “Look, me and Cas, we’re working on something. A house. And we need all the hands we can get to help out down the track. You put in some hours on the place, helping me out, we’ll be square.”

Frizzy brown hair was suddenly shoved up Dean’s nose.

Aisha poked her head out from the back. “You’re building a house?!”

Hands off the wheel and on the young girl’s shoulders, Dean coaxed her back into her seat. “Yeah, belts on now.”

Krissy scrutinised him in the only way teenage girls could. “For you _and_ Castiel?”

“Yep,” Dean answered, staring pointedly ahead even when a smile broke out on his face. “Me and Cas.”

And of course, because it was one of those spring cock blocking, jump-scary bird days, when Dean clicked his belt on and turned the keys, the car didn’t start.

“Uhh.” Dean tried again. A small hit with a bird was hardly enough to zap the whole thing of life.

He swore he saw Krissy mouth ‘fuck’ under her breath.

“It’s dead!” Aisha cried out, with the same devastation she’d afforded the crow. “It’s died!”

Dean flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. It was a little hard, he had to admit, not to laugh at the whole morning. “Yeah,” he huffed, turning the key one more time and watching literally, nothing happening. “I think you’re right about that. Looks like we’re walking guys.”  
  


 

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**[Dolly](http://usagui123.tumblr.com/)**  


 

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**[Dolly](http://usagui123.tumblr.com/) **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am incredibly touched and humbled that people want to make art about this little fic!! 
> 
> Help me thank Dolly by checking out their work on **[tumblr](http://usagui123.tumblr.com/) **


	23. Chapter 23

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**Earthly Plane, 2015**

  

Dean had accused Castiel once, in their earlier years, of bottling up his feelings. At the time Castiel could have accused him of the same, but that would have been pointless and mean, though only because it would be Dean Winchester he was talking to.

The idea of ‘bottling up one’s feelings’ was an entirely human concept; the idea that a being could hide their feelings away and pretend that they were not there.

Castiel, conversely, knew exactly what his own feelings were. He knew where they came from, where they went, what caused them. He knew every joy, every tear, every ache. He didn’t need to try and sort them out with some form of introspective objectivity.

Castiel had never understood humanity's preoccupation with ‘being happy’. It was something he had never been able to figure out. No being could sustain happiness all the time, just as no one could live permanently in rage, in sadness, in fear.

Fear. Yes. Castiel felt the blackness tighten around his throat, pulse hot and angry and full of fear. Castiel was not one to run from his fears, to deny their existence. He could study his fear at a distance, as humanity does the night sky for all their short era. He could embrace it, accept it, acknowledge it as as much a part of him as any other more pleasant feeling. Maybe even more so.

And it was because of this that Castiel was able to separate his own fears from those of his kin now.

His kin, somewhere out there. A new god on American soil.

And they were _afraid_.

Sam Winchester touched his shoulder. “Cas.” He said, sounding agitated. He stood up as bright light flicked in front of them breaking apart the early, early morning, Castiel could feel the heat of the pickup’s headlights flash across his skin. “Castiel, I think—is that Dean?”

The engine of the old pickup stopped and though as in answer to Sam’s question, Dean jumped out of the front seat and hit the ground running, torch in hand.

Sam’s hand slipped from Castiel’s shoulder.

“Sammy! Cas!”

He heard Sam jerk forward. “Dean! Dean, over here.”

“Fuck, Sammy.”

The brother’s embraced when they met.

“It’s Sam.” Sam said, affection layering his tone. The moment stretched when Dean laughed and tightened his hold. They clung for a moment, a touch Castiel knew spoke volumes of the distance still between them, the years and secrets between them.

“I’m fine, really.” Sam said after some time. “You can let go.”

“Shut up” Dean said affectionately. But he did pull back after another moment, slapping Sam on the shoulder, maintaining that precious, human contact with family Castiel knew he loved. “Dude, what the hell happened?”

Sam laughed, a weak thing, obviously still in pain. “It’s—It’s hell, man, there’s a lot to explain, Cas—”

And it was with that that Dean turned to Castiel, seated on the ground. Connecting to the earth.

Dean sank down to his knees, so he could look Castiel in the eye. Castiel could feel him. Could hear Dean’s heart beating a rhythm in his chest, feel his own heart wrapped around the humans, filling him with warmth, filling him with life. He opened his eyes.

“Cas?” Dean said, his voice as soft as leaves. Touch even more so, he cupped the side of Castiel’s face, an uncharacteristic touch when they weren’t alone, sweeter than any offering.

“Hey, hey man hey, are you—” Dean’s freckled cheeks turned a little pale. His hands slipped from Castiel’s face, passed by his jaw. Finger tips touched Castiel’s neck. He could see Dean’s throat move as he swallowed. “W-what’s wrong with you?”

Castiel took a breath in, he was prepared for this. He was, He--he blinked his two eyes, focused on his human vocal chords, forced them to work as one harmonizing unit.

“I’ve been gone from my hearth too long, please.” He looked at Dean, saw him, and knew his mate understood two things in that moment. One, what Castiel was saying, the other what he was not. “Just take me home, Dean.”

Castiel was a creature who knew exactly what his own feelings were. He looked at Dean Winchester and like an unpleasant aftertaste on the back of his tongue; grief lingered.

“Come on guys.” Sam spoke. “We’ll explain everything in the car.”

  
  


**_  
_**

**Stowe, Vermont, 2015**

 

“Yeah, well, you know something? This _human_ happens to think asshole spirits should think twice before lying out of their asses. I think, I dunno Cas, that might help with my stress?” Dean slammed his car on the wheel and the car shifted a little. Not at all like the Impala, this was a silent, smooth sailing machine. Sam had hated it on sight, but was so glad for it now. Driving was infinitely better than walking, he just wished Dean wasn’t—

“God, man,” Dean swore and the car swerved a little. “You told me we had each other’s backs.”

Dean enunciated his words with extra, uncharacteristic care. Sam felt like a voyeur, and experienced a sensation he could only describe as the complete and utter desire to become one with the comfortable, worn material of the passenger seat.  Sam cringed and glanced at the back seat. Cas looked ridiculously human, ridiculously small sitting there, draped in Dean’s jacket. He had been looking out the window, eyes intent on the rising light, but now he turned from the scenery, turning from placid to attention-sharp feral in an instant.

Sam could almost feel the sizzle in the early morning air, the tension for the last hour of the drive in such a small space finally crackling to life as Dean and Cas’ eyes met through the rearview mirror.

“You should keep your eyes on the road.” Castiel said, his tone cool, but Dean's voice interjected. Sam could hear exhaustion there, making him ragged, and a hurt that seemed to eat at his brother’s senses, making him hard and unforgiving.

“Whatever. Y’know? What-fucking-ever. I don’t even care.”

Sam shifted in his seat. “Dean—” But Cas cut in.

“One would think,” he began again, voice cold. “That you would both be more pleased.”

Sam turned toward him. “We are—”

“Pleased?” Sam noted that Dean's hand trembled as he turned the next corner, pulling into Stowe with the practiced ease of a local. “So, I should be pleased that you’re- that you’re infected with some other spirit or something’s what…shitty feelings? And we don’t even know how that’ll affect you in the long run, but right now it doesn’t seem to be anything fucking good.”

Cas growled. “This infection, as you so put it, may assist us in finding my kin. Helping them and stopping all this.”

“Wanna go over that with me one more time Cas? Cos it seems to me all it’s doing is zapping you of everything you’ve got.”

“You act as though your desires, your affection for me is more important that other people’s lives.”

“Oh don’t you pull that, holier than thou god crap with me. Not now.” Dean snarled. “Yes, people, you helped them, helped Ben and Lisa and I’m thankful for that, I am. But you fucking lied, Cas. To _me._  I thought we talked about this… after everything we’ve been through.” The sound that came out of Dean was almost animal. He turned onto a recognizable road. “How else am I supposed to react when you tell me you’re infected or corrupted or, or whatever you said?”

Sam recognized the house they pulled up to, Dean’s, never had he been so relieved to see a place other than Bobby’s or the Bunker. He put his hand on the door but was surprised with the car’s sudden stop. Dean unclicking his seatbelt and opening up his door. “You want me to just treat this all as something good Cas? At the cost of you? No fucking thank you. No way.”

The slam of the car door behind Dean was unmistakable and sharp. Cas’ jaw clenched as he glared at the empty driver’s seat, and as he too left Sam in the car alone, shutting the door behind him, he had all the presence of a thunderstorm in a glass bottle.

Sam stayed in the car a moment, breathed in the early morning air. When he finally went inside neither Cas or Dean were speaking. Castiel was up against the wall, watching Dean with a scowl on his face, arms over his chest and Sam’s jacket still, poorly tied around his waist by its sleeve.

Dean was over by the sink, in the middle of boiling water in a cozy looking kettle, slamming cupboards and shoving aside dishes seemingly with no real goal in mind. He had one mug out on the table (reading: _trust me I watch Dr. Sexy. I’m basically a surgeon_ ) and when Sam looked closer, he could see a small string with a yellow label dangling over the side.

He stepped into the kitchen, aching all over and asked in lieu of anything else to say. “Is that _tea_?”

“It’s chamomile.” Castiel answered dryly as Dean, wordless and fuming, poured water into his mug. “And I would love a cup.”

Dean slammed down the kettle and spun towards him. “Get your own damn cup,” he spat and stomped off upstairs.

The kitchen in his absence shrunk, till Castiel, bare-assed, padded over to the draw and got out his own mug. Tea poured and steaming, he took a seat down at the table.

“So…your brother has shared his thoughts,” Castiel said after a couple sips. He looked at Sam over the rim of his mug, eyelashes so white they were almost invisible. “Sam?”

“We’ve been stuck on this case for weeks.” Sam took a seat opposite Cas, and kind of wished he’d grabbed himself a cup first. Too worn to get up out of the chair, he sat there and regretted his lack of tea. “There’ve been so many people hurt because of this, Cas. People have died. Lives, irrevocably changed.”

“Yes.” Cas said easily.

“You keep saying that you having this, thing, inside you is a good thing.”

Cas nodded. “Yes. Though any definition of _good_ is entirely relative.” He took another sip.

Sam frowned across at him. “How?”

Cas opened his mouth.

"About the case, what's inside you." Sam cut in. "Not, I don't need a morality lesson."

Cas nodded, he set down his mug. “It has been a long time since there have been any of my brethren, other entities like me, in this realm, on this continent. I didn’t—I didn’t remember our ways, how we speak, how we scream.”

There was a long moment in which neither of them said anything.

“Think of this,” Cas began and gestured to his throat. “As the physical manifestation of a radio wave, a radio wave of pure energy, of emotion. On a frequency only I can interpret.”

Sam turned that over in his mind. “Can you communicate with them or say anything back? Ask them to stop doing this?”

“They are not-my kin is _not_ doing this purposefully. No more than you purposefully jump when startled, cry when sad.”

“Like a defense mechanism, a reflex.”

“Yes.” He set down his mug. Hands flat on the table, Sam thought he saw them shaking, but when he next looked Cas had tucked them beneath the table, his blue eyes, hard and resolute. He sighed. “My kin is suffering, I’ve—I’ve been blind and ignorant to it for far too long. I want to help you Sam. And I think you can help me.” He touched his throat again, only with the barest tips of his fingers. As though the mark was painful to touch. “This has to help. It has to.”

“Dean isn’t going to like it.” Sam said.

Cas let loose a big exhale. “Dean is being impossible.”

“He gets like this when he’s worried. He comes off angry—but it’s just because he cares.” Cas looked across at him, a little less severe, a little more interested than he had any time before. Sam continued. “He didn’t talk to me for three days after I got cursed once, I was, god, thirteen I think?” He gave a wry smile, but it faded quickly as he contemplated how long ago that had actually been. Felt even longer now, with the events of the last few days.

“You were cursed as a child?” Castiel asked with what could have been concern, if Sam knew him better.

Though he supposed as far as he knew, he was the only person alive to see Castiel the way he truly was, massive, primeval, something utterly inhuman, on his home turf a giant liminal creature.

Not even Dean had had that experience.

“Nothing serious.” Sam explained. “I was joking around with some items in the Bunker, the uh. Men of Letter’s bunker.”

“I am familiar with the Bunker and your heritage,” said Castiel.

“Yeah.” said Sam. It made sense, for Dean to have talked about their heritage, their life as kids with the guy he’d chosen to settle down with. “We are grateful Cas, _I_ am grateful. Hell, you’re this massive giant, thing and you’re here, with my brother making him happy, and you’re willing to help us. And not just because one of your own is involved. It’s, it’s not going unappreciated. I saw what you are, what you _really_ are, and I’m floored.”

“I know that it is impolite in most cultures to comment upon someone’s weight,” said Castiel mildly.

When Sam stared at him blankly, Castiel leant forward, something that that was almost a smile on his lips, his voice lightened in imitation.

“This _massive_ , _giant_ _thing_.”

That startled a surprised laugh out of Sam. He laughed, as Cas stood up and took his mug to the sink.

“We should move out tomorrow morning, today we need the time,” he said, rinsing his mug in the sink. He fiddled with Sam’s jacket around his waist, undid the sleeves then set it on the table. “You should rest, Sam.”

Sam threw his eyes to the table, even if he had to fight the start of a smile, an absurd, exhausted smile, one that slipped off of his face and sunk beneath his skin. “Night, Castiel.”

Cas corrected him. “Good morning, Sam.”

Cas didn’t go upstairs Sam noticed, instead he went out the front door.

It was odd to feel so tired during the day, Sam plugged his phone on charge in the kitchen, boiled the kettle again made his own cup of chamomile.

His fingers opened up a new text message while his mind wandered.  


**-Sam-**

_I have had, a really strange week._

**  
-Elieen-**

Oh?  


**-Elieen-**

Our line or work strange or?  


**-Sam-**

_Both. All of it._

 

He thought for a moment then tapped out with his fingers. _You wouldn’t believe me if I told you._

It was a testament to how tired Sam was when he didn’t hear Dean enter the kitchen, instead noticed him out of the corner of his eyes, standing in the doorway.

“You and Cas are pretty buddy buddy, huh?” Dean said. Sam noticed, almost absently, that he had changed into soft sweats, what looked like an even softer sweater, his wrists exposed as his sleeves were too short. He stepped across the tile, his socks, like the rest of him, looked warm and comfortable. “All of a sudden.”

“Guess I just figured out we’ve got something in common?” Sam said and gave him a looked he hoped came across meaningful. “Besides, it’s kinda like I saw the guy naked.”

Dean said nothing just…looked at him. He shuffled across the floor and dumped his own mug in the sink. The silence dragged on until Sam was sure that Dean wasn’t going to say anything; so sure that he buried a hand through his hair, and mumbled more to himself than anything; “ _Or_ , not like that at all.”

After a moment or two, Dean sighed, his shoulders slumped visibly, all the aggression seemed to drain away from him as though he simply couldn’t be bothered with it anymore. He looked over at Sam, lifted a new cup from the cupboard and tapped the bench, a wordless question.

“I’m fine. Thanks.” Sam said, and lifted his own cup.

Dean set the clean mug aside then poured himself a glass of water.

When he sat down at the table, where Cas had just been before, he worked his jaw in a familiar way. The sight of it enough to catch Sam for a moment. It was just so… _Dean_. It was comforting in a way, even after all this time, that Sam still felt familiar enough with his brother’s moods, his signals, to know when he wanted to talk about something but was struggling to get the words out. When he got like this drawing blood from a stone seemed an easier feat than prompting conversation.

And still, as though a testament to the time between them, Dean started speaking only after a few minutes of dense silence.

“You meant what you said?” He managed eventually. “About going along with this, just, taking a back seat and letting Cas—”

“Honestly Dean? I may not know Cas well, but I’m pretty sure I’m not in the position to let him do anything.”

Dean huffed, outwardly not agreeing or disagreeing with Sam, he just stuck to silence.

“But if he’s giving me a way we can stop this from affecting any more innocent people? I’m going to trust him,” said Sam.

“Even if it’s hurting him?”

“Not to sound harsh Dean but, this is Cas’ choice. I’m not going to get into him lying to you, that’s not my business,” the last thing Sam wanted was to be caught in some sort of domestic. He slid his phone off the table, unhooked it from the charger and put it in his pocket. “And I’m sure we both want you in on this with us.”

There was silence for a few moments while Sam let that sink in.

“I don’t like it okay. I don’t. I’m not going to pretend I do.” Dean ran a hand over his face, and suddenly he looked tired. _Older_ , even; there were lines on his face that Sam couldn’t remember ever seeing there before.

“A life for a life. Pamela told me that once, and it holds true man, as far as I can see. I just, I wonder what going after this thing is going to cost us.”

Dean made an almost passable attempt at covering over the little break in his voice there. Sam had the decency to pretend he didn’t hear it. He could understand where Dean was coming from, he had more to lose now. Being a civilian, out of the life hell—finally getting a life, he had a little patchwork family to care for now, one Sam wasn’t even sure he was a part of anymore.

"Cas saved me today, Dean. In that place, that realm, I wouldn’t have survived without him," Sam said, quietly but firmly. "He’s saved you, he saved Lisa and Ben. I know he lied to you and I know that hurts, but there’s a bigger picture here and I really think, if we can back Cas up in this then no one’s gonna get hurt."

He scratched idly at his forearm, god he needed a shower. Took the moment of silence to debate internally how to best broach the subject.

"Cas is family to you, I get that. It hurts when family messes up. When they put themselves on the line cos they think they’re doing the right thing." Sam said, voice gone soft. "But, hell, Dean we’ve made more progress on this case in a few days then me, and Bobby and Rufus have made in weeks."

Sam realized then, as he said the words, that the spirit that was crying out, the spirit that was hurting, had been doing so for _weeks_.

“It’s okay to be scared of jumping back into this. Apparently we’ve got new gods and old gods now, I mean this thing isn’t your average salt’n’burn.”

“I’m not scared,’ said Dean, hands tight on the glass in front of him.

"Dean," Sam said quietly. "I know you better than anyone."

"You used to man,” Dean said, and his voice was low and hard. “Not anymore.”

And that was true, Sam didn’t, so he let the conversation drop.

"Okay," Sam said evenly. He turned to stare at the soft yellow-colored walls. Castiel was likely somewhere out there in the forest recovering in whatever manner his type of creature did and Sam wondered distractedly whether that could work on humans. He felt tired more so than before, the whole lot of himself resonated in a single drawn out ache.

Sam thought then the conversation over, but Dean made no move to get out of his chair; instead, he sat rigid, jaw clenched. Sam didn’t push, some lifelong instinct telling him that Dean was working up to something, even if it was true that he didn’t know each other anymore.

Not really.

Dean gulped at his water and some of the tension seemed to leave his shoulders. "I just – he's such a _mess_ , you don’t know him like I do, but I see it, I see how this is already affecting him." Dean blurted eventually. "And I know saying that is rich, I'm not much better some days. You guys were gone almost two days and man, I almost ripped my hair out worrying about you both."

 _You both._ Sam noted, and tried, honestly tried not to react.

"That’s why we need you on board with this," he went for slowly. "You can keep Cas grounded, keep his head on straight as we go into this."

Dean looked across at Sam with an unreadable expression. “Yeah.” He said. “First time for everything right?”

Sam tapped his fingers on his thigh. “What even happened to you when we were gone?”

“Me? I was arrested.” He said that so casually. Sam felt his expression twist into a confused frown, but Dean went on as if nothing was amiss. “Sound’s a lot cooler than it is. They took me in, couldn’t explain or prove anything, Benny bailed me out.” Dean shrugged. “Bail was a pain, Benny’s gonna have a lot of favors to cash in for all of this.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay. Really, Dean.”

“You too, Sammy.”

Sam breathed out a tired huff. But it was his easiest breath since coming back earth-side. “Sam.” He corrected.

“Whatever man.” Dean smiled, and for a moment it all felt easy.

They lapsed into silence, but it was a comfortable one this time, for the first time; more comfortable than things had felt in, Sam was hesitant to say years but the thought was niggling there in the back of his, despite everything around them that was going to hell, and wasn’t that funny how that worked out? Sam stifled a yawn, rubbed tiredly at his eyes and longed for a bed, any bed. It had been a long day.

“Get some sleep man. Guest bedroom’s still yours.”

Said the guy who used to run on four hours of sleep. Sam thought on that a moment, smiled and let it go. He didn’t mind so much Dean’s mother-henning, he wouldn’t be Dean if he didn’t worry about these things.

“Talk to Cas, okay.” Sam said, as he got up out on his chair. He yawned, and knew it was about as subtle as a brick to the head, but he knew that Dean and Castiel needed to talk things out, and what he needed a little bit more than that, was some sleep.“We’ve all gotta be on the same page about this. And I think it took something out of him, being back in that realm, as himself.”

He turned back around, saw that Dean had visibly tensed. A muscle jumped in his cheek. Sam stayed silent.

After a moment, Dean blew out a stream of frustrated air. “Okay.” He said, while the look on his face suggested he was seriously debating over his own thoughts. He seemed to settle somewhat reluctantly. “I’ll think about it.”

Dean stayed at the table as they said goodnight, which made sense- he probably hadn’t been up the entirety of thirty something hours, being tossed about by forgotten gods, trying to contemplate creatures and sights he’d never even thought existed.

Exhausted, Sam skipped a shower, he dragged himself out of his clothes before throwing himself on the spare bed, softer and more comfortable than any motel bed he had been in in months, not as familiar as the Bunker but just a little more cozy. He rolled onto his side with a groan, and slapped at his cell phone on the bedside until the screen lit up and he could tilt it towards him.

One message from Eileen, a reply. Sam smiled at it, and only smiled wider as he opened it up and read her words;  


I’m here if you need someone to listen.  


It was a shitty joke really, not one of her bests, but Sam went to sleep with a smile on his face.

 

_______

 

Dean sat in the kitchen, in silence.

Behind Dean’s eyes throbbed, his head one long ache. He had been up too long, had been worried sick.

The idea of losing Sam when he had only just got him back.

The thought of losing Cas—

He could understand where the two were coming from, if Dean had been in a better mood, he might of actually been glad that Sam and Cas were on similar pages now, talking or at least, starting to talk.

As it was Dean was not in a better mood. He rose up from the kitchen table, ignoring the tiredness that swelled within him at the exertion. He found himself looking around the house a moment, his home, and found it empty of all but him or Sam. Cas was out in the forest, not unusual for him, but Dean felt torn about it now. Glancing out the window, his eyes ran across the neatly kept lawn, made small with the encroaching forest, small but decidedly _theirs_ , before focusing down at nothing in front of him, attention shifting to the matter at hand.

His anger was real, Cas’ lying _real_. And his self sacrificing, martyr, inconsiderate god-complex—

Dean counted to ten. Slow, steady counting. Then, he flicked off the lights and went back upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, kudos, threatening or loveable tumblr messages are all welcome <3


	24. Chapter 24

**_  
_**

**Stowe, Vermont, 2015**

 

When Sam woke up his brain was sluggish but his body felt jittery, as though he’d had too much coffee. There was something of a mixing anticipation and worry in his gut, after weeks of working so hard on this hunt, now that they finally had some forward momentum, he felt himself hesitate. That feeling; as though he was playing a game much bigger than himself, was enough to have him showering slowly, dressing carefully.

Neither Dean or Cas seemed to feel the same way. Cas had popped in that morning, human, and had poured himself several mugs of coffee, seeming to have decided to spend the entirety of the morning seated at the kitchen table, staring sullenly off into the middle distance.

By the time Sam had gotten around to packing up his own few belongings, mainly his research, Dean was already ushering a teenage girl into the house with a too cheery smile that was some weird hybrid of genuinely affectionate and kind of forced. 

She had introduced herself as Aisha before tugging a little at the light blue material of her head scarf, eyes averted, smiling slightly. 

Sam tended to have that impact on quite a few teenage girls, over the years. He greeted her politely.

“Okay so, again,” Dean clapped his hands together, and steered Aisha further into the kitchen. He gestured as he spoke, like a clucking, plaid clothed mother hen. “Both Cas’ room and my room are out of bounds. You can stay in the guest room if you want, all of downstairs is free to you, so have a party invite some friends…”

“Don’t do that,” said Cas over the rim of his coffee mug.

Aisha’s eyes widened and her lips parted but she said nothing.

Dean shot Cas a poisonous look, then carried on as if the man hadn’t spoken. “And you can eat whatever you want in the kitchen.”

“You may try the honey.” Cas said, leaning forward on the table on his elbows, he spoke directly to Aisha - which clearly unnerved her. Cas’ eyes looked knife-sharp, the deep growl of an undercut to his voice negating any real humour that could be drawn when he told Aisha: “I made it myself.”

Though he was speaking to Aisha, he was looking at Dean. He wasn’t a burning column of light, or a giant many armed thing for sure, but still, Sam thought that he hadn’t seen Cas look quite this inhuman before. An uncanny valley that made his literal shape even more unnerving.

Dean snorted, an ugly sound. “No one wants to eat your vomit Cas.”

Cas’ lips pearled. “That is a crude and misleading comparison—”

“How long will you be gone?” Aisha asked, cutting in between them. She was clearly uncomfortable, Sam felt that way too. Dean and Cas, when not outwardly ignoring each other, had been bickering and snarling at one another all morning.

Dean folded his arms over his chest, while Cas sunk back into his seat and huffed.

There was a second there in which no one said nothing.

“Uh, couple of days, I think.” Sam edged, looking to Dean and Cas but getting nothing back. He lifted his shoulders. “I guess.”

“Four days tops.” Dean said gruffly.

Aisha licked her lips and nodded. “Uh, cool, I just need to let my mum know.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder.

Dean’s sigh seemed to let some of the tension out of him. “Seriously, thanks for doing this Aisha, I know it’s last minute.”

“It’s fine.” Aisha smiled, and pulled on the strap of her back pack. “Gives me a break from home. And you guys have a pretty big TV.”

Sam smiled then and he heard Dean huff a laugh. “Yeah. I’ll have my phone on me the whole time. If you need to call or—”

“I’m sixteen, not ten.” There was a flare of fire there in Aisha's voice that had Cas smirking down into his mug and Sam smiling a little more openly. She glanced between the three of them then bit her lower lip, turning back to Dean. “But thanks.”

Only after the truck was all loaded up and ready to go did Dean hand Aisha his house keys. She took them, smiled, then the two of them hugged.

“We didn’t have to worry about house sitting going out on hunts growing up.” Sam told Dean as he passed, hands shoved into his pockets, the sour look on his face returning as they walked with their bags to the car.

He was trying to lighten the mood but Dean didn’t seem to take to it.

“That’s because we lived in a bunker underground.” Dean retorted. “Can hardly call _that_ a house.”

Sam lifted his eyebrows but didn’t say anything. Hobbling off toward the back seat.

Cas trailed a few steps behind them, carrying no other belongings apart from a glass bottle full of water. He passed Sam without looking up from the ground, rounded off to the driver passenger side and reached down to open the door.

“Cas,” Dean said and rapped on the top of the truck. “You’re in the back.”

Cas’ answering expression was enough to rival Dean’s pissy one. “Excuse me?”

Sam froze in the spot and wondered really if he should move at all. “Uh, I’m fine with the back Dean—”

“Cas hates long car rides.” Dean said, not looking at either of them. “He’s like a kid.”

“I am _not_ a _child_ ,” said Castiel.

“Then maybe you should stop acting like one.” Dean snipped. “I’m not having you get all pissy up the front and get carsick all over the fucking—”

Sam shifted, carefully, drawing both men’s attention to him. “Ah, everything okay guys?” he asked.

Dean said ‘yes’ at the same time that Cas answered; ‘no’.

The ensuing silence was heavy.

They glared at one another until Dean stalked off with a huff and got inside behind the wheel while Castiel just stood there, glaring. He turned to Sam and tilted his head. Cas’ gaze bore into Sam’s eyes until Sam wanted to squint, rub the back of his hand across his face or look away.

He settled for a hand over his mouth, sighing deeply into his palm. “This is stupid.”

“Yes, thank you,” said Cas flatly. “I am glad I’m not the only one finding Dean’s childish behaviour so infuriating.”

It probably wasn't a good time, Sam thought, to say that they _both_ were being stupid.

“I thought you guys talked last night?”

“What gave you that impression?” Cas asked, as cold and hard as marble tile. “That would have involved a certain amount of maturity on your brother’s side, maturity he is currently lacking. I’ve found that it is hard to talk like an adult with someone when they seem utterly incapable of listening.”

With that he brushed past Sam, said something low under his breath and climbed into the back seat.

"Okay," Sam said to himself, getting in. The drive out of Stowe was quiet and tense.

 

___________________

 

"Where to again?" Dean asked while his fingers sat still against the steering wheel, not tapping to any beat. He hadn’t even reached down to turn on the radio.

Sam looked on out the window at the wide, empty road, hilly country and forest gullies spilled out all around them. "We still need answers." He said, glancing to the back.

Cas, human, was sitting with his head propped against the window, his bruised throat stretched on display.

Sam’s stomach turned a little.

He heard Dean suck in a breath and nod, as his eyes focused in on the emerging gravel road. "You’re telling me."

“South East.” Castiel said, fingers dancing by his throat. His eyes closed and strained. “Just, drive in that direction for now.”

He looked ill, driving away from Stowe, face waxy, dewed with water that seemed too viscous to be sweat, his eyes sunk into deep hollows.

It didn't seem wise to probe him further.

Maybe it was a good thing he had the room to lie down in the back.

Dean’s fingers flexed on the steering wheel. He shrugged back his shoulders with a grunt. “Yeah, cos _that’s_ direct.”

Sam carded his fingers through his hair, tugging a little at his scalp.

It was going to be a very long car ride.

**_  
_**

**Hoffmeister, New York, 2015**

 

Despite Dean’s attitude, Sam found out around three hours into their journey that he had been right about Castiel travelling poorly in cars.

It was around the two-hour mark that Cas had turned fully around in his seat and seemed determined to stare back at the path they had taken, making occasional small sounds, huffs, and sniffs, as they drove.

Half an hour after that he’d grunted and laid down in the back seat, completely uncaring for road safety regulations or seat belts or anything.

Another half an hour after that, he started undressing with furious, frantic movements.  

“Hey...Cas?” Sam said worriedly, glancing into the back seat until he saw a flash of naked skin and determinately stared out the windscreen. “Uh, you okay?”

There was a shift, and in a gentle fog of white mist Cas transformed into a short-white furred coyote. He snarled and exposed his teeth, then scratched at the back seat, unable to lie still a moment.

“Cas?” Dean grumbled and glanced quickly at the rear-view mirror. Cas flopped down onto his stomach and snarled, the black lips of his muzzle kicked up. Dean turned back to the road. “Right, silent treatment then, mature.”

Sam looked across at him. “Dean.”

Cas’ voice, quiet and stiff, cut across what he was about to say. _May we stop?_

“What, you sick? Or is it that whole thing playing up?” Dean asked, even as he started to veer off the main road.

Cas’ next words came out as a growl. _I’m not sick._

“Well I dunno Cas you sure sound and look sick. But I mean, what do I know right? I’m just a human, and you’re this big bad thing right? You know everything.” Dean said his words dripping syrupy sarcasm. “Then again, couldn’t trust you to actually even tell me if you were sick right?”

 _Not with this attitude._ Cas growled.

“Hey guys,” Sam tried, uselessly.  “Can we just please—”

 _I appreciate your concern for my wellbeing,_ Castiel snarled at Dean, sitting up on two paws. _But I will remind you that I have managed without you for countless millennia, and rest assured was it so needed, I could manage—_

“Hey now. Come on.” Sam cut in looking behind him. Cas was sitting up a little in the back seat, his fur sticking up along his spine, he was panting. Beneath his light fur, Sam could make out the black bruising around his throat. He twisted in his seat, belt strapped tight across his chest and reached out for the window crank on Cas’ side.

“Cas, look you just need some air.”

“Sam," Dean snapped, threw one hand off the wheel, reaching out to him. " _Don’t_.”

But Sam had already cracked the window. In less than the time it took to blink Cas evaporated from the back seat in a puff of white and was sucked out the gap in the window like an open airlock in space.

“Shit!”

Whether it was the force of Cas exiting the car or Dean hitting on the breaks Sam didn’t know, but in that moment the car swerved, Dean yelled, jerking his hands to the wheel, ripping the wheel as he tried to right them. It didn't work. Sam's head whipped back with the force of their turn, brain smacking against the inner walls of his skull. The car ran off the road scraping along the dirt and gravel before stopping with a hard jolt and smack into a grassy ditch.

Then it was quiet. 

“Ow." Sam said, and rubbed at his chest where his belt had pulled tight, fit to cut into his chest. His neck ached and his head swam, smacking against the walls of his skull. Crap, whiplash. “What the hell?”

“Christ, Sammy, I said _don’t_.” Dean took his hands off the wheel, Sam noticed they were shaking, he rubbed them up over his face, then unclicked his seatbelt. “Did the contraction confuse you? Fuck.” He slammed the car door shut behind him to prove his point and rounded the front of the car to check out the damage.

Fuck, Sam said to himself, then got out of the car to join Dean on the side of the road.

Paddocks, farmland, Sam would remember in a couple minutes where they were but for right now his heart was still beating out a panicked rhythm in his chest. Barely close to calming down. The car was fine, no damage up front, Dean seemingly relieved by what he saw but still shaken. Assured that everything seemed in order, he ran his hand along the car's hood then climbed his way out of the ditch.

Sam followed him further off the road. He watched Dean kick at a loose rock and thread his fingers through his hair to cross stitch his fingers behind his neck. Breathing out, Sam leaned his weight against the wire fence in front of him. Looking out at, honestly, not all that much. Some cows, maybe. None of them looking like Cas. “Where is he?”

Dean cupped his hands together, threw his head back and called out. “CAS!” A yell which done anywhere other than the side of a dirt road in rural farmland, would have had attention on them in moments. “CAAASS!”

Sam blinked up to the sun, scanning the sky about them. A shadow circled, moving closer. Sam threw a hand up. “There!”

Looking more like a white cloud than a bird for a couple of moments, Cas circled in a little closer but made no move to come down or say anything.

Dean dropped his hands down to his sides. The worry bled from his voice, replaced by anger. “You bird brained son’v’a…get down here!”

Cas screeched and then flew off following the road out ahead of them.

“Fine.” Dean said and threw his hands up. Sam’s gaze tracked between his brother and Cas and then back again.

“Come on Sam.” Dean stomped his way back to the car, fuming. “Next gas station we’re stopping off for food.” He looked up at the sky after Cas and called out, a bit like a mad-man “And you better keep pace Cas or else, seriously!”

For the first time since they’d left Stowe, in the car, Dean turned on the radio, the music so loud Sam could hear it vibrate behind his eyes.

**_  
_**

**Hamburg, New York, 2015**

 

They blew out of New York by New York State Thruway before the sun set, a seven-hour car trip Sam thought, that with any other hunt, he could have stretched to nine or ten, but Dean was tired, he was shifting in his seat, taking one hand off the wheel, and arching his back using his free hand to, rub and pinch at his spine.

Things had changed.

“There’s a motel off Interstate 90. We can set up for the night, get into some research." Sam said.

Dean’s smile was a wince, he shifted in his seat. “Whatever you want man.”

They pulled into the Super 8 motel and once they were booked in, walking away from reception with two separate keys, Dean broke off from the concrete paved carpark and squatted by the well-kept garden. Sam watched him press his palm to the ground, and pretended not to listen as he told Cas where they were, strained, quick, and then brushed his hands on his knees as he stood.

“How long do you think he’s gonna take, flying I mean?” Sam asked.

Dean shrugged morosely, he bypassed talking and went straight for the bags.

“So, that talk you guys were going to have last night must have gone really well.” Sam said, following Dean back to the car. “Whatever you said and sorted out, you guys are practically honeymooners right now.”

Dean shouldered his bag roughly and ignored him. He fiddled with his keys at the door. Once inside he threw his bag off in the corner, it was a small room, plain but enough for the one night.

“You remember right,” Sam gestured vaguely above them, to where, somewhere Cas was flying. “That we talked about going into this level headed. ‘Bout you and Cas being on the same page.”

“No, Sam, I don’t remember.” Which was, of course, a lie. “Listen man, you don’t get it, alright? Cas lied to me. I’m allowed to be pissed about that, he’s my husband man, we’re supposed to be partners.”

Dean checked through the cupboards and fridge then stomped off the the bathroom. His actions were stunted, pained, obviously the long drive had worn on him more then Sam had guessed. God they were both getting old.

He returned with a wet face, dragging his still damp hands down his sides.

Sam’s chest felt tight, Dean’s assumption stinging a little. He stepped into the motel room with wary movements. “I was engaged, once, y'know.”

That just…came out.

Dean looked at him. “What?”

It took Sam a moment to answer, the words coming out rougher than he’d intended. A hollow jab of loss stung in his gut. Really, he hadn’t intended to speak about this at all. But Dean was looking at him now, all slumped shoulders and wide eyes. Sam had a flash then of some weird déjà vu, it was like Sam was telling Dean he wanted to go to college all over again, that he wanted to leave.

“Her name was Jess.” Sam said, he closed the room door behind him and set his bag by his feet. “It wasn’t a hunt or anything. A drunk driver took her right off the sidewalk in the middle of the day. That was, god, five years ago.

“So yeah, I get what it’s like to have someone in your life you care about that much. I get what it's like to have a partner.” It still hurt, after everything - after five years, after Eileen - losing Jess still hurt. “And hey, Jess and I weren’t perfect, we’d fight, we’d argue and get pissed at each other and not talk.” Sam spoke slowly. He came to sit at the small table while the fridge in the corner made a  whirling and clicking sound, the power in the room rolling over. “And it's cliché to say I hate how stupid that all was, how often we'd fight with each-other, cos if I could’ve had the time back with her...”

Sam only caught a glimpse of the pain in Dean's expression before he had to look away.

There was a brief, reflective pause. Sam could practically hear Dean digesting this new piece of his life. After a moment, Dean sat back on the queen bed and slumped over himself, exhaustion buried beneath his every line. He looked up at Sam.

“Sam, I am,” Dean broke off, swallowed. “I’m so sorry you-you lost her. You have no idea how much.”

Sam closed his eyes a second longer than it took to blink. “Why’d you leave Dean?” he asked, another something that bubbled up in him. That had been weighing on him. The air needed to be cleared, they needed to be on their game. “I spent years thinking you were dead. Convinced you were gone for good.”

The long stretch of quiet was broken by the rumble of a truck going out by the highway.

Dean cleared his throat uneasily. “Sam…”

Sam said nothing, just waited while Dean with his feet on the ground laid back against the bed.

“Was it,” Sam stalled, started again. “Was it because I said I was thinking about going to Stanford? You thought it best to jump ship first? I know you always preferred hunting to being a legacy...”

Dean brought a hand up to rub at his brow. “I didn’t prefer hunting to Men of Letters shit Sam, Dad just thought I was useless at the Bunker and he wanted an excuse to go out taking on ghosts of ghouls with all his Bunker toys. I didn’t…It wasn’t just one thing. Sammy,” Sam waited while Dean rubbed his index and middle finger over his chin. “Wasn’t anything you or Dad said or did, though I did finally get out of dodge after a rough hunt with Dad when he clocked me one.”

A sting of adrenaline, a leap of anger and regret, went through Sam and he clenched his fingers around the edge of the table. “He _hit_ you?”

He thought that now was when Dean would back away from this, change the subject, tell him it was nothing at all. Dean had always been the defender of their dad growing up, had always been the one to tell Sam to leave him be, leave him alone, don’t cause trouble and the way Dean had taken John’s death and had since barely spoken or asked about him, Sam thought he wouldn't be the type, to speak out about his shitty parenting now.

Dean cast Sam a look that said absolutely nothing at all. “Once. Don’t look at me like that man, I gave as good as I got, more even, probably. We were both assholes, Dad’d been drinking, I’d, shit I’d been drinking too. We'd lost some people out on a hunt, good innocent people  and I just remember thinking, Christ I don’t have to put up with this shit, after dad blamed the hunt on me. Just that single second, that moment after duking it out and I was gone.” Dean drummed his fingers on his thigh and sat up on the bed.

“Met Cas the day after I left. But it wasn’t you, it wasn’t California, Stanford, being bi, being a Legacy or any one single and small thing like that. It was all of it, everything all wrapped up together and then none of it at all, really. I just-I just had to leave, so I _did_.”

There was a tapping at the window, both Sam and Dean turned; Castiel as a white hawk, tipped his head to the side. His voice sounded out quite grumpily through the glass; _The door, please._

With a sigh Dean planted his hands on his thighs and got up to his feet.

 


	25. Chapter 25

**_  
_**

**Hamburg, New York, 2015**

 

It was after a solid three hours of failed research and listening through thin walls of their motel room to the couple next door screaming at each other, that Dean finally hit his limit. 

Three hours- three hours of researching nothing much, finding even less, and becoming intimately familiar with how much the couple in the room next door hated each other - Dean finally hit his limit.

They had been knee deep in research since landing at the motel. Castiel rifling through the few arcane texts and bits of folklore that Sam had had the foresight to drag through the continent of US of A, making their book loving ancestors proud.

“I don’t see how, even if we find this thing, how we can even help,” said Sam, dragging a hand through his hair. “How do we even help a god?”

“That depends entirely on what’s wrong.” Cas said, looking up for the first time from his book. “You’re thinking of gods a little too narrowly Sam. We’re a conscious manifestation of spiritual energy, residing in everything, breathing through everything.” Cas said, his voice drawn and strained. The bruising on his neck looked painful as he reached up, touching it with gentle fingers.

“A massive shift in an environment imbued with spiritual energy can have as much of a devastating effect as the smallest change. We quite literally won’t know the extent of the damage until we get there.”

“What you’re saying sounds...you’re talking Shinto religion,” asked Sam. “About millions of gods, about Kami?”

“I suppose that is the closest understanding you humans have to the concept, yes.” Cas answered, cupping his chin where already some white bristles were starting to show. Dean looked at him and thought they really needed to get him a hat or something, or stop by a drug store and grab some more hair dye. They’d draw more attention walking around with Princess Bride’s Mel Smith over there.

“Fuck you, Brian you fucking fuck!” Came a yell from next door. The walls doing nothing to muffle the sound.

More than that though, they needed a break from this shit.

Dean took in a breath. “Okay,” he said and got to his feet. “We really need to step back from this a second yeah? Figure out the next step or, any step at all.”

“We’ve only been at this a couple of hours,” said Sam frowning across at him. “And we haven’t made a lot of progress, this’s how hunting—”

Dean shook his head, heading back over to the bed to pick up his jacket. “Yeah well, I’ve grown accustomed to a certain kind of living now. Which includes food at regular intervals, not throwing myself behind the wheel on next to no sleep and not subjecting myself to other people’s personal drama.”

There was a still moment in which only the fighting next door could be heard. The kind of fighting that really only had one of two conclusions; excellent hate sex, or a painful break up.

Not that Dean would know much about either.

The yelling grew to an uncomfortable volume and level of bitching. Sam perceptibly wincing and shifting in his seat, Cas cocking his head, expression as blank as his human form could allow it.

Point proven, Dean shrugged his jacket on. “Cas, you hungry?”

An olive branch, maybe, Dean wasn’t going to look all that closely at it. He just didn’t want these two to starve, and wreck their backs slumping over those books like that.

He had a right to be angry, he was allowed to feel scared—angry.

Just because he was pissed didn’t mean he stopped caring.

“Yes,” Cas edged slowly, as though wary of a trap.

Dean stamped down the bitter retort he wanted to make at Cas’ wary tone. “Right, well, two against one. Sam, bring your laptop along if you wanna get some work done.”

There was the crash of something thrown, a vase or something.

“Guess we could do with a scene change,” Sam said frowning at the neighbouring wall.

Dean threw his jacket at him in response.

 

_______________

 

The thin shriek of a car’s horn sliced into Dean’s eardrums. Another joined, and another, until the whole line of cars back up in front of him and behind were pressing down on their horns in a mind splitting crescendo.

With a painful grunt Dean pressed his forehead on top of his hands. He could feel every one of his nerves being tested.

“This traffic’s insane.” Sam said from the passenger seat beside him. He looked out the window, his expression pulled into an irritated grimace. “Town-wide road rage.”

"This place is giving me a fuckin’ headache," Dean said, and tried not to flinch as the car right behind them joined in on the fray.

They slowly crawled forward, inching along the street, blessedly Dean squeezed his way out of the jam at the next set of traffic lights. With Sam’s directions they pulled into what had appeared on google as a simple full meal dinner. Though looking at it as they pulled into the parking lot, Dean couldn’t help but think that the place had seen better days.

“Uh, this is the place.” Sam said, and plastered a strained smile on his face.

Cas was busy looking out the window. He said nothing.

Dean flicked his collar up as the three of them piled out of the car. Bad weather had pulled with them into the motel, the sky a cloudy grey ceiling that somehow felt closer to the ground, more claustrophobic. For a moment Dean was unsure whether it was just Hamburg in particular or whether he had been in amongst the hilly, open aired forest of Stowe for too long and now he compared everything to it.

There was no place like home, really, Dean thought looking around.No place at all.

“Jesus,” he said as they passed two guys duking it out in the parking lot. They were young, younger than either him, Sam or Cas, college aged, Dean thought, looking at them spit and snarl, probably drunk.

“Is it just me or is everyone really Hulking out today?”

Sam cast a wary eye to the college guys but pulled out ahead to lead the way inside.

“The air is…tense.” Cas said, standing behind Dean. "There are no birds or insects." He noted, looking across the street.

The only place Cas had ever been, for as long as Dean had known him, was Stowe and the surrounding area. He wondered if this was Cas’ first time out of the state, away from home.

"You think it’s us-related?” Dean asked, trying, really trying to soften the sharp edge to his words. “You’ll-you’ll tell me if something's wrong, right?"

"Many things are wrong," Castiel pointed out.

Dean closed his eyes and then opened them again.

"I mean specifically. Like, if you–I don't know–sense something."

Cas turned the question back on him. “Do you sense something?”

Dean shrugged. “It’s cold. Shitty looking. Dunno, I feel off.”

Cas just looked at him.

“Whatever.” Dean shrugged, a new bout of annoyance stirring beneath his ribcage. “Be cryptic. Just, keep your wits about you yeah?”

Dean pushed his way into the dinner without waiting for a reply. He spotted Sam in a booth across the room and headed for him.

“Move over,” he said, bumping Sam in the shoulder.

Sam glared, pocketed his phone, and dragged the duffle off the seat beside him, kicking it under the table. He threw Dean a look when he squished up into the seat, shoulder pressed to shoulder, both eyebrows raised.

“Quiet you.” Dean said and plucked a menu from the holder.

Sam just inclined his head, then looked down at his own menu.

The kid had grown a sharper profile, and hell that nose - that was mum’s nose. Looking at him, Dean tried to figure out all the differences he could probably just find out by asking. If he’d been able to bring himself to do it.

Sammy had had a girl. A great girl by the sound of it.The girl, the kind that all the movies and books and everyone ever seemed to talk about. And he’d lost her, Dean couldn’t—Dean couldn’t imagine that kind of pain, and he hadn’t even thought that Sam…

That was Dean, that was old Dean, not thinking about others. But with Sam, Dean felt pulled back a couple of steps, all too easy to fall into old patterns, old ways of just looking at stuff. Acting. And with the rest of everything that had been happening this week.

It hadn’t really sunk in that Sam had thought him dead. He’d probably mourned, hell he’d probably had a funeral. Like he’d had for his girl—Jess, like he’d had to have had for Dad. 

Alone.

Sam leant heavily back against the booth, his hair so much longer now than Dean knew Dad would have ever allowed. His eyes were the same hazel shade but with a glazing of thirty-year-old experience.

Dean had known the question would come, had known that, as soon as Sam saw an opportunity he’d ask the tough questions, questions Dean didn’t even really think he had the answers for. This whole week had been a fucking mess.

They weren’t supposed to meet up this way.

There was a difference, Dean had practiced rationalising to himself, between running away from your problems and preparing yourself while you waited for the strength to face them.

He’d always intended to see Sam again. He’d really really missed him, living life without Sam had fucking sucked sometimes.

But by the time he’d felt ready it had been too long.

Dean’s heart gave a painful thud and he wet his lips.

“What?” asked Sam. “What are you looking at?”

“I’m just… really sorry,” said Dean.

Sam frowned. “Uh, about?”

“About Jess, about leaving, and then staying gone.” Alright so, in the middle of a shitty dinner, in the middle of nowhere was not the place to have this conversation. Dean wiped a hand over his mouth. “You know. Everything.”

Slowly, Sam’s gaze softened but then he cleared his throat and thumped Dean on the shoulder, didn’t look him in the eye. “It’s not your fault, I mean Jess isn’t, that wasn’t anything to do with you,” he paused a moment before going on. “And yeah, you left… I mean, it sucked. And you stayed gone - that was hard - but it’s over. I turned out good, you turned out, hell you turned out pretty great, Dean. I’ve been thinking and I guess, y’know, maybe that’s how everything had to happen.”

Dean nodded, though he didn’t really agree. Sam, god that kid, he was just trying to make him feel better.

“And hey, if you never left, you’d never have met Cas right?” Sam said, though his tone was a little thin, but Dean didn’t think any more on that.

If he hadn’t left, he wouldn’t have met Castiel.

The idea rolled around in Dean’s mind for a bit. The idea of not knowing Cas, of being on some kinda life pathway that wasn’t in Stowe, that Cas wasn’t a part of.

That would also fucking suck.

Dean did not want to know a life without Cas.

And that was why this shit scared him so much.

Cas sliding into the opposite side of the booth dragged Dean from his thoughts. “I believe the couple across from us are getting a divorce.”

Dean leaned a little out of the booth and felt Sam do the same. The couple across the room were, yeah not exactly having the time of their life Dirty Dancing style. The man was bawling thick tears, the woman red faced and ripping her napkin into tiny shreds.

“May I have a menu?” Cas asked, Sam slid one over. Cas barely even looked at his, eyes darting down the laminated paper. “Have you two finished talking?” he asked them.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Have you and Dean even started?”

Yep, even with the two of them being pains in the ass, Dean would still rather have them.

“Right, well, sucks for them.” Dean said, hoping neither of them noticed the sudden thickness of his voice. “There’s an unholy amount of hostility, all up in this place.”  He looked around and yeah everyone around them seemed to be having the shittiest of shit nights. Even as he thought that a waitress from across the room slammed down her notepad and stormed out the front door. The small bell giving a little ‘tin-a-ling’ undercutting the ‘fucks and shits’ she was throwing out behind her.

“I already need a drink, Jesus Christ.”

Sam, eyes on the departed waitress nodded in agreement. Cas sitting right across from Dean just stared at the side of his face, saying, predictably, nothing.

“What?” asked Dean. “What’s that face you’re making?”

Cas didn’t get a chance to answer, right then their waitress (finally) approached, hair kinda pulled out of its tight up-do, she looked a couple of shifts underpaid, and a part of Dean, a small part, wanted to tell her to go home and sleep.

“Know what you want?” the waitress asked, not looking up from her notepad.

Dean could practically feel Sam bristle beside him, Cas had no reaction, mouthing off an order for a vegan burger and tea.

“Don’t do vegan. Don’t do tea.” The waitress rattled off in a bone dry tone.

Dean watched Cas glance down at the menu, watched him glance back up at the waitress, quiet and considering. He probably noticed the same as Dean, she wasn’t wearing a name tag.

“It is here on the menu, seventeen forty-five—”

“Don’t have it okay.” She snapped. “We’ve got water; you want water? That’s vegan.”

Cas’ eyes narrowed. A look that was both a worry and kinda a turn on. Dean nudged him under the table.

Sam spoke from across the table. “I’m having a salad, I’m sure that’s—”

“The dressing isn’t vegan.” The waitress said.

“Then can we get one without dressing?” Sam asked.

“Can’t. Comes in a packet.”

“Delicious,” Sam offered with a thin lipped smile.

“Water is fine.” Cas said. “Thank you.”

The waitress just let out another drawn sigh. “What about you?”

She said this to the table, as opposed to either Dean or Sam.

Dean fired off his order, just sort of wanting the whole process to be over and to have food in his stomach. Sam looked as though he wanted to say something, but in the end rattled off his order too.

“Right.” The waitress said and piled up their menus. She turned on her heel and crossed the floor in heavy strides, dumping the menus on an empty table as she called out their order to the chef.

“Rude.” Sam said under his breath. Dean held back a bit of a laugh, he’d gotten a lot worse working counter at Benny’s those years ago, he still got some shitty people passing through Stowe needing their car looked at. Folks rude enough that a couple of times Dean had considered cutting a couple of brake lines.

Only considered.

Waiting a half hour for their food what felt like a decade later did have Dean reconsidering that consideration.

"Marinette, Nashville, Plymouth," Cas read. 

Sam, the nerd, had dragged up his duffle from under the table, laid a map out between the three of them and was now sticking dotted stickers over several points on the map. What kind of grown man carried around little dotted stickers? Dean tried to push that kind of thinking aside, that wasn’t him anymore.

Sam took a small red sticker and stuck it to the map over Coolidge State Forest **.** His other hand's fingers flew over his laptop keys, typing something out without looking.

Cas read a few more names from some of the notes Sam had taken earlier. "East Stroudsburg, New City, New Haven, Norwich." 

For each spot, Sam put another sticker onto the map.

So far it just looked like just a bunch of spots.

Dean turned his eyes back his own pile of case notes. Slumped in the chair he read over cases, people infected by Cas’ blackness, the people, Sammy had told them, who hadn’t made it. Dean’s gut opened up to a pit at the thought of Ben being like that, if it weren’t for Cas.

The heel of Dean’s boot knocked against the middle stand of the booth table, his leg jostling up and down. He felt fidgety, irritated and still that uneasiness that had been hanging around for days, since Cas had been infected, lingered.

Dean huffed out a breath and focused—focus, focus— on the newspaper print outs in front of him. There were some scribbling’s along the margins, most in Sam’s handwriting but a couple were in a neat, cursive print Dean didn’t recognize.

A crash and a yell came from the kitchen and Dean jumped in his seat.

Nothing, just some dick. Dean leant his elbows on the table and pushed his face into his hands.

"Anyone else notice what I'm noticing?" he asked the table at large.

"Whatever this is, it’s almost everywhere." Sam said, reaching for a jug of water they, of course, didn’t have.

Dean’s stomach felt as though it was eating itself. He leaned over Sam’s work to distract himself.

"Everywhere?" He said and tapped the map. “You did say you were following the case up the coastline.”

“Rufus was, we broke up. Rufus took the coastline, Bobby stuck west, and I headed up to the border to you guys, unknowingly. First case we picked up was in Detroit.”

“Detroit’s not exactly known for its forests Sam. Not on the scale you’ve got up with us or the other places that got hit.”

“There wasn’t any fires or disasters like we had at Coolidge,” said Sam tightly. “Just the people—”

“Were infected with a fear that was not their own, infected with anger,” said Cas.

Dean leaned closer to Cas over the table, familiar with that look of Cas’ that said; ‘human language is stupid and inferior I don’t know how to say what I’m thinking.’ Yeah, that look was a Cas classic, brows pinched, lips a little drawn in, eyes down.  

“Cas?” he said, fighting for the gentleness in his voice, there was a sharp edge there that wasn’t him, wasn’t what he wanted. Damn it just because he was pissed at Cas didn’t mean he didn’t care. “What are you thinking?”

“You’re both thinking too, too, lineally,” Cas said slowly, after a long quiet moment. “What happens to the surface of water when you strike it with a stone?”

“It sinks?” Sam asked.

“It ripples.” Dean said.

Cas nodded, the quiet, slight tip of his head confirmation enough.

"So we shouldn’t be following the case sites. But finding a point where they all zero in on, or span out from?” Sam said, slumping back in his chair. Yeah that method wasn’t really the hunter’s way of doing things, holding off on going site to site, saving people on the small individual level. That was the stuff, Dean knew, Sam was all about, that was what he had been all about too, before, well, getting a life of his own.

Dean could see the frustration written all over Sam’s face. "God."

Dean tired to decide if Sam was really so upset with the lack of solidity in their plan or if he was just tired from the drive. He’d been pouring over a lot of research in the car when he wasn’t trying to make himself appear smaller while Dean and Cas snapped at each other. 

Dean knew it, he wasn’t blind, but fighting was part of all relationships and in his opinion in a car, where his attention could be diverted and the radio could be turned up, was the best way to do it.

But, yeah, Sam looked as though he wasn’t well rested did he need a break? The Sam that Dean knew took tonnes of breaks, falling asleep in the bunkers library - drooling on archaic texts. Lying down against the Impala’s windshield in the garage, simply because of the fact he could.

Their waitress came over, set down their plates. She made the second trip back around and dumped a jug of water and two glasses on the table.

Dean nodded and spoke around a mouthful; “Fank-oo.”

Cas just sat there and stared up at her as he set a jug of water between the three of them

“Something wrong with your water?” she asked when she noticed Cas watching her.

Cas blinked serenely and just squinted at her harder. Seeming to wonder to himself why such a small and petty mortal was speaking to him in such a way. “No.”

“Seriously.” She said, tone rising. “Got a problem?”

Cas’ eyes narrowed. “No…”

“Sorry, we’re all just pooped, y’know, roadtrip.” Dean said, when it was clear Cas wasn’t going to elaborate, and just keep on trolling the wait staff. “He gets a bit spacy when he’s tired.”

The waitress just looked at him, looked away. “Right, whatever.”

Dean threw Cas a look as the waitress walked away. Cas said nothing, watching after her, when he felt Dean looking at him, he turned.

Dean busied himself again with his burger, glancing away. He picked it up with both hands and devoted himself to munching down on it with the kind of gusto he usually only reserved for eating out… eating uh… other things…

They table was quiet. Cas sipped from his water and looked out at the patrons around them. Dean finished his food  in under ten minutes. God he had  _ really _ needed that.

He could feel Sam fuming beside him. The guy hadn’t touched his salad, eyes intent on his laptop, fingers darting across the keys.

“Sammy, you gonna eat your food?”

Sam made a sound like a grunt. His face was pulled into an unpleasant decision.

“Sam?”

“Yeah, just give me a—” He stared at his screen for a moment then smacked his palm flat on the table. “Damnit!” Dean jumped in his seat and scooted back a little. Cas blinked across at the both of them, while Sam said, voice raised; “Why the hell is the wifi so crap here?”

“Woah, hey, now!” Dean tried.

Sam stared at him, fuming, then looked away. “Sorry, I don’t...’

“Long car trip, it’s okay, let’s just rest up tonight.” Dean slapped him on the back and felt there in the touch, an electric tension, like a zap. He sucked in a breath, words a little shaky and drew back. “Come at this with clear heads in the morning. Cas?”

Already the waitress was returning, Sam’s little outburst enough to even bring her out of her uncaring slump.

“Can I have a container for this please?” Cas asked her and pointed to Sam’s salad.

She eyed the three of them warily, eyes resting on Sam who was gathering up his gear with his shoulders up to his ear.

“If you have to.” She said and stomped off.

She came back with a container, but told them that it would cost extra.

Cas took Dean’s wallet to the front to pay, while Dean gathered up their research. Sam shoved notes into his back, his mood dropping with every passing second.

“Someone’s not getting a tip.” He said under his breath.

“She’s already underpaid Sammy,” Dean put money on the table. “We’re not the only ones who’ve had a shit day.”

**_______________**

 

The problem was that Sam wasn’t sure what he was feeling, exactly.

When Cas asked he admitted; “I don’t know.”

Dean’s hovering was irritating, but to be fair it had been irritating since Sam had been a kid. He shrugged off Dean’s hand gripping his shoulder and walked out ahead.

Leaving the dinner helped, some, Sam had to think. Everyone had just been so…so everyone in there. Cloying. Like there was a vice grip over his chest making it hard to breathe. He needed some air, he needed some space. A headache was throbbing behind his eyes; like a pulse he could almost hear.

Dean dropped his arm back down to his sides, his face lost its hard edge of concentration. 

“You’re tired. You’re tired is all, you’re fine.”

“I don’t think you should just discount Sam’s feelings as exhaustion.” said Cas. “If they are even his own.”

Dean glared at him, a hard twist to his mouth. “I’m not ‘discounting his feelings’.”

“God,” Sam said, cutting them both off. “You two are goddamned adults, one of you older than the human race,” he stared between the two of them, Dean having the decency to look ashamed. Cas just looked…around. “I’m not your third wheel, I’m not your therapist, will you just deal with your problems like grown people?”

Sam swallowed, he felt as if he was breathing too heavily.

Really the guy with the knife came out of nowhere.

Years of honed reflexes allowed for Sam to grab the fist aimed toward him. He stepped quickly to the side, turned and socked the first guy he saw.

The guy went down hard, clutching his face with one hand, in the other something glinted. Sam made a move to kick the guy’s hand, he kicked and missed, a strong hand pulled him back.

“Sam!” Someone yelled behind him. The pain in his knuckles seemed to snap Sam out of the fight. He stumbled back into the hand gripping his upper arm. Sam breathed heavily as he forced himself to loosen his fist at his side.

“Sam?”

There was a tug at his arm but Sam didn’t move, he just stood and stared at the guy on the pavement, shocked with himself more than anything.

The guy snarled something that almost didn’t sound like words, he made a move to his feet and held something in his hand.

Dean stepped out from around Sam, standing tall over the guy. “Back off, just back off—”

But Cas was there between them white hair glinting hard off the dark brick wall. “Dean. Don’t touch him.”

He put his hand on Dean’s chest and pushed him back a little. The guy on the ground snarled like a spooked animal as Cas crouched before him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, extending one hand and shuffling closer. Spoke softly if even out loud at all. I’m trying, but it’s not enough. “Let me help you.”

The guy lunged forward, panting, he collapsed against Cas’ chest in a heap. Cas jerked, but then settled his palm across the man’s cheek. He tilted his face up.

Cas sealed his mouth other the mans in a burning deep inhale. The glow travelled through both of them, Sam almost couldn’t see. He remembered seeing Castiel with Ben Braden before, the corruption rolling through Ben’s throat into Castiel, drawn in by his light.

But now it hurt to look at, it actually burned.

It faded quickly as Cas drew back, swaying a little on the arches of his feet.

“Y—” the guy said as though both seeing him and reacting for the first time. He pushed off of Cas’ chest, stumbled back on his ass, then he fell unconscious.

Cas climbed up heavily on his feet. He didn’t allow Dean touch him instead came to stand in front of Sam, somehow, in that moment, reminiscent of his massive, burning, light. A sun on cracked concrete.

“It’s affecting you too. Everyone here,” Cas touched Sam’s shoulder gently and squeezed. 

The black around his throat twisted, shifted under his skin. It was starting to fan out across his jaw. “Sam,” Cas said, hand moving up to touch Sam’s neck. “Close your eyes.”

“What—”

Cas’ touch burned like ice fire. His lips didn't feel like lips at all, more like claws in his skin. His touch poured into Sam and tugged something up, out of him. He gagged, falling back as Cas released him, every bit of him stinging as though he’d touched a live wire. His lips felt sore and Sam knew they were bleeding.

“Woah.” Sam flexed his fist – out and in again – nothing felt broken but it hurt a lot. 

Everything else felt raw as though he’d scrubbed at his skin with sand granules. The headache was gone, and the tightness of anger in his chest he could determine now hadn’t been his own. Gone.

"Woah," Sam said again.

Dean shot him a glare then held onto Cas’ arm. “Cas?”

Cas swayed still kneeling. Fine. I’m—I’m not fine. Then he spoke aloud, with syrupy thick words, and gently touched his stomach with one hand. “I think he stabbed me.”

He drew his palm back and it was red.

Sam took in what he was seeing and let out a curse. He went to dial 911 but Dean stopped him.

“He’ll heal.” He said, but still swore and shook as he dropped down to Cas’ side, bringing him up quick on his feet, he threw Cas’ arm around his shoulder, pressed his other hand hard to Cas’ abdomen. “Okay, seriously, we are getting out of this shit hole.”

Sam acted instinctively and crouched down to soothe the unconscious man. This was all his fault.

“Sam.” Dean’s hand touched his shoulder. He shifted his weight, holding Cas up. “Leave him. He’ll be fine.”

Sam’s hands shook the whole way back to the hotel.


	26. Chapter 26

**_  
_**

 

“I don’t need any medical assistance.” Cas was telling Sam, still peevish and stubborn as ever as Dean and Sam carried him between them toward the motel room.

Dean grunted, holding onto Cas with one arm while he fiddled with the room keys. It took a bit to open the door, Cas getting grouchy in his hold. Sam was struggling, still wigged out from earlier, but once Dean had finished swearing at the keys,  he wrapped both arms back around Cas and guided him into the room, leaving Sam to make it in under his own steam.

“Normally I’d agree,” Dean said, huffing. “But right now, kinda want to make sure everything’s in working order before you bleed out all on the floor.”

“Down on the bed.” Sam suggested. They both lowered Cas down, who wriggled in the blankets tiredly once he was let go, like a kid trying to get comfortable.

At least he hadn’t fallen unconscious this time, but a part of Dean kind of wished he would.

Cas’ left pupil was blown out wide, the other just looking like a pin prick in a sea of stormy blue,  highlighted by the shock of sooty black bruising that was curling up Cas’ chin and across the side of his face.

Cas was restless, moving, shuffling around in the bed as though uncomfortable with his own skin, he was panting.

“Take off your shirt Cas.” Sam said.

Cas looked up at him and blinked. “Take off my—”

“You heard the man.” Dean said.

Cas made a sound like a snarl but he did as he was told, opting to tear a few buttons instead of undoing them with his fingers.

 _You are both,_ he said, making other sounds out loud with his mouth, almost as though he was holding back from growling. _Being ridiculous._

Cas, even as a human was still a quiet kind of guy. Every movement controlled, every movement purposefully.

He’d never been like this. Fidgety and uncontrolled.

But then of course, with his shirt off and his jeans, really Dean’s jeans, low on his hips, he settled back on the bed with something like a sigh. “How are you feeling Sam?”

The stab wound wasn’t all that deep, and Cas was right—Dean had known he would be—the wound was already healing. But that wasn’t what caught Dean’s attention.

What worried Dean more were the dark veins spread all out over Cas’ chest, dipping down beneath his jeans. It wasn’t how Dean imagined it, wasn’t how veins were supposed to look, light, faded and thin, like twisting tree twigs or wisps of smoke. No, Cas’ veins now were thick, clogged, painful looking, more like raised lumps or worms underneath his skin, than anything that was supposed to actually be a part of him.

It was hard to look at, so Dean didn’t. He headed back out to the car, grabbed the first aid kit and checked the tank. Nearing half empty, Dean didn’t want to stop to fill up but it looked as though they’d have to. Get back, patch up Cas, then get out of this fucked up town as fast as the weather and gas mileage would allow him.

“Dizzy,” he heard Sam say as he came back into the room, “but better.”

Cas nodded, something Dean read as an ‘I’m glad’ and ‘you’re welcome’ all without saying anything. Cas, master of wordless communication.

He didn’t wince as Dean tended to him, Dean didn’t expect him to. Cas was quiet and still while Dean touched him, soothing antiseptic over the wound, washing it. He didn’t bother to bandage it, it would be a waste, touching a gentle fingertip to the flushed skin, Dean could see that easily.

Cas’ stomach quivered.

Dean slapped him on the thigh as he got up. “Alright Fabio you’re fine, but I’m getting you some water.”

Cas nodded, eyes closed.

As Dean grabbed the water Sam collapsed onto the edge of the kitchen table, carding both hands one after the other through his hair. Dean grabbed a second cup, filled it up, then passed it to Sam as he passed him.

“Thanks,” Sam said and skulled the whole thing. He looked over at Cas. “You sure you’re going to be okay?”

“This is not the first time I’ve been wounded by a human,” Cas answered, he opened one eye, long, white hair falling in front of his forehead. “I’ll survive.”

Sam nodded and set his glass aside. “Fear makes humans do strange things.”

“Not just humans y’know.” said Dean.

Cas accepted the glass Dean handed off to him, but chose to pout and huff instead. “Dean.”

“This whole place, this town, all these people, Sam,” Dean said coming back to sit on the bed. He could feel Cas jolting his leg, bouncing his foot against the floor. “I say we ditch and leave this place in the dust.”

Cas’ leg was jiggling hard, shaking the whole bed. Dean reached out a hand and put a stop to it, hand on his knee, Cas looked at him and stopped.

“We can’t go backwards, we’re close,” he said eventually. Wriggled a bit but Dean squeezed him. “I can feel them, we’re close.”

“Yeah, well, you know, I’m sick of all these feelings, right. Nothing about this all feels—”

A ringtone cut him off, made Dean take a breath and sag back into the bed.

“It’s Bobby.” Sam said, looking down at his phone then back up at Dean. Held the cell to his ear and walked out of the room. “Hi, Bobby.”

Bobby. Dean’s gut churned. Oh boy, _Bobby_. The man ringing up Sam, checking in, shouldn’t have made him want to cry but it did.

There was a moment of silence while Sam spoke outside. Dean could see him through the motel window, but couldn’t hear him. His next breath was a broken sound. Crap, Dean rubbed at his eyes, he needed to get his shit together.

“Dean,” Cas said, in that way that made Dean want to hug him, curl up with him and be told everything was going to be okay. Cas waited a moment, lips parted as though to say more, but he stopped and sat up a bit, curling thin, blackening fingers around Dean’s wrist, he touched him softly. “You’ve got blood, here.”

Dean turned his face away and got up off the bed.

Cas laid back and watched him. “I don’t understand why you’re so angry with me.”

And really, that was kinda the problem wasn’t it? Cas doing shit and not knowing why it was wrong, or reckless or made Dean upset.

“I’m not angry with, okay I am, but I’m more wired, right Cas? It’s a normal human thing, we get stressed, we get worried, we get pissy and he don’t like when the people we care about do shitty, self sacrificing things.”

Castiel sighed. "I suppose, I understand why this worries you, Dean, you have a right to be angry. I've put you in danger."

“That’s not why I’m—”

"I was only trying to—"

"Talk to it, save him, I know. But Cas, this, look at you. I mean, what were you hoping to do, talk through the poor guy to the God on the other end, ask them to stop shitting on everything? You remember Ben in hospital, all those other people—is that how you want to end up? Look at what this is doing to you, man. You've gotta be more careful.”

Cas looked unconvinced, which, given the sorta way he was just trying not to fall asleep or something was a bit impressive. Y’know, if Dean wasn’t annoyed.

“They aren’t intending to harm me.” Cas said.

"Right, yeah, definitely getting that impression. Good ole monster pat on the back."

"You're being reckless with that term," said Cas. "It's not as black and white—"

"—we are not having this fucking conversation again—"

"—labelling every inhuman being as a monster is an oversimplification—"

“Most of them are Cas. Most of them…”

There was a brief pause. Neither man having the air to finish his thought.

Cas laid back on the bed, scrubbed a hand through his hair and winced. "I wish you'd trust me."

"I do!" Dean said immediately, throwing down a sock. "I trust you with my life, Cas, you know that—”

“Then why—”

“God, does there have to be a specific reason why I feel things, can’t I just… _feel_ _them_?”

"Yes," said Cas softly. “You can.”

Another pause. Softer than the first.

“Right, so I feel off about all this then. Some god out there that’s doing this to you. I hate it.I get it, you wanna help. I wanna help Sam too. I just find it hard to trust in a plan that’s not really a plan, and in a thing that’s zombie-fying people and burning down forests.”

"I'm a thing," Castiel pointed out with a scowl.

Dean found the familiarity of the expression a little weirdly comforting. Then again that, was about the only comfortable thing about this whole mess. He looked at Cas who was studying him. Cas, who was hard to look at right now, alien, injured. What a self-sacrificing, caring asshole, watching him with half-closed eyelids.

"Yeah," said Dean. "But you're different."

Cas blinked, one eye blown to hell, bloodshot, looking painful. He laid back against the bed, breathed out tight through his nose, scrubbed a hand through his hair and the tension, the scowl was gone.

"Mm," Cas agreed drowsily. He rolled over on the bed onto his stomach, stuffed his face in the pillow and said; "Come here."

Dean stopped pacing.

“Please, Dean.”

Dean walked over.

 

____________

 

“Dean?”

Sam winced, and sucked in a cold air through his nose. Phone to his ear, he wanted nothing more than to take his words back instantly.

Bobby’s voice came down the line, when the conversation started a comforting growl with fond assurances, now, something drawn a little tighter, like a bow string struck almost too many times.

“What do you mean Dean, Sam?”

He had told himself he’d tell Bobby after all this was over. When they’d had time to breathe, sit down, and sort all this out like family or something close to it.

But then Sam had opened his mouth, talked about the case, and of course, then…

“Boy?”

Sam stared dumbly at the ground for a moment, he could feel the silence settle around him through the phone; thick and oppressive.

“He’s ah, alive Bobby.” Sam ran a hand through his hair, god, why was it so hard to tell him? “He’s alive.”

Silence.

“Vermont, right? Of all places,” Sam said casually, trying to shatter the pain building up in his chest. God there was something in the air, something ruining him. “And he’s happy Bobby, not, hunting, now I mean, he’s helping me out with this case but. He has this little house in the woods and everything—”

“Get’im.” Bobby said.

Sam blew out a harsh breath.

Cas was asleep when he came back inside. The room was filled with a strange sort of peace, like a fall leaf clinging, trembling on a branch, strange especially considering even while on the phone with Bobby, Sam could have sworn he heard some raised voices.

Dean was on the bed beside Cas, boots still on, just sitting there, hand in the spirits white hair. He was rubbing him, or petting him gently, something thoughtful and equally quiet having fallen over his face.

Sam pulled his eyes away and cleared his throat.

Dean didn’t pull back like a part of Sam expected him to. He didn’t really do much of anything at all. He just raised his eyebrows, saying nothing.

For a second Sam had forgotten he had Bobby waiting on the line.

“Bobby,” he said and sort of, wiggled the phone a little as though to illustrate his point. “He wants to speak to you.”

Dean’s face crumpled until it had all the contours of a sheet of paper.

Sam passed a hand across his eyes, tried to rub away the stiff band of pressure biting and squeezing into his skull.

"Okay. I know this is all too...too huge to talk about or whatever, but Bobby’s missed you as much as I have." Grieved for you as much as I did, Sam thought.

As though Dean could hear that, he grimaced.

Sam closed his eyes, sucked in a breath. When he opened them Dean’s face was pale and panicky, like Sam knew it would be.

Sam opened his mouth to say something but, before he could there was a quiet—given it was through a phone—yell from Bobby Singer.

“YA DAMN IDGIT, PICK UP THE—”

Dean strolled on over fast enough to catch Sam off guard. He snatched the phone up, put it to his ear, opened his mouth and—

Nothing.

“IDGITS I—”

Dean pulled the phone away from his ear with a wince, he only pulled it back to speak into it. “Jeez, old man I’m here already, god damn…”

There was a moment where Dean didn’t say anything, but he was listening so Sam guessed Bobby was talking. By the way Dean’s eyes welled up, how he clutched at his mouth, covering it, and nodded his head a couple times, Bobby was saying…quite a lot.

He didn’t comment or rebut when Dean took the phone call outside, the first and last he heard of the conversation being; “Yeah, Bobby, good to hear your voice too.”

Sam stood in the doorway and watched Castiel’s chest rise and fall with each breath.

He looked a little dead.

There was no other way to describe it, Castiel was asleep, or what passed for asleep for him—Sam wasn’t sure—curled on his stomach with lax fingers just barely touching his own lips, his other hand curled into the space Dean had been sitting in. His hair looked a little as though it was made of light. The very air around Castiel glimmered and Sam knew that somehow he was seeing the echoes of what was really lying there.

Sam tried not to think to hard on that, trying to picture Cas as he was in the spirit realm, it made his brain ache. It lanced through his head, one split second memory of fire and fury and a golden light that was Castiel’s true form. So many winding fingers, so many flaming eyes, more dangerous and powerful than anything Sam had ever seen.

The crone spirit, Sam remembered more the fear of seeing it—her, rather than anything truly defining, Cas’ sister, he remembered her voice. _‘Their cries, their hurt. It’s their pain inside you now. Why do you ignore them?’_

If this was what trying to communicate with others of his kind looked like, Sam couldn’t blame Cas for going nomad and not listening.

The collar of black around Cas’ throat had spread out now all across Cas’ chest, and face, rippling down his back as if a tattoo imprinted on all his veins.

Veins, puffed up and painful looking.

It made Sam’s stomach feel strange and tight, that feeling of just-about-to-jump that he’d hated even as a kid.

He looked a bit uncomfortable like that, hanging half off the bed, curling up into the space Dean had abandoned. Sam shook his head, stepped closer.

He felt a bit stupid really, for the him a few days ago, the Sam who had looked at Cas and thought he was a normal guy, or a shifter, and not something so unbelievably absolute. As purposeful as a storm, a star, a black hole. What kind of other being must it take to effect Cas so completely, have a ripple effect across the country that was affecting everyone.

A shiver ran up Sam’s spine but he reached out a hand anyway to pull the blankets up over Cas’ body—

Cas’ eyes flew open and he snarled then froze at the sight of Sam standing over him.

“Woah, Cas, calm down,” Sam took a few quick steps back, hands spread wide in a placating gesture. “It’s just me!”

God, Cas looked worse with his eyes open. He blinked, dazed, confused, then arched his back up in a stretch like a cat, fingers curling in the mattress. His eyes, down react to the light as they should, one blown to proportions that made Sam want to drive Cas to the ER, the other the smallest pin-prick in a sea of icy blue.

Sam put his hand down. Slow. “Are you okay?”

“I—yes,” Cas said, licked his lips, then said; _You startled me_.

Sam cracked a smile that wasn’t returned. “Yeah, kinda guessed that from the whole…” He tried to say something funny, make a casual joke, but when Cas turned back to him a knife-sharp look in his eyes any humour at all just dried up. He wasn’t a tentacled, spined burning giant of light, no, but Sam thought he'd never seen Castiel look less human than he did then.

Cas shifted up onto his knees, still in a pair of Jeans too low on his sharp hips. He wobbled, braced himself on the edge of the bed, but climbed off it slowly.

“Seriously, are you okay?” Sam asked awkwardly.  “You look about ready to fall over.”

Cas waved a hand in dismissal of the question. Sam fidgeted for a moment as Cas didn’t answer verbally and didn’t seem as though he was going to. So he sighed and then he said; “What about Dean? You guys okay?”

Cas stumbled a bit walking over to the sink. He looked as though he was about to grab himself a water, but instead he turned the tap on full and put his whole head under it. His voice in Sam’s head still spoke without even waiting a breath. _He doesn’t think we should stay here._

“Gotta say I agree.”  said Sam.

Cas gasped out a breath and turned off the sink. Water ran in rivets from his white hair, down his throat, over his chest, over the black marks and bruises. God he looked like shit.

This wasn’t working. Cas taking more and more of this thing into himself, leading them around, trying to pinpoint a location, it wasn’t working. Sam leant against the far wall and tried to curb the growing tide of frustration within him. They were never going to get anywhere close by just wondering like this, they needed a specific or they needed Cas to take more in, and actually be able to pinpoint this thing.

Sam tried to batten down that worrying conclusion. Was that Cas’ idea, take more and more of this thing into himself till he had enough to figure out where they were?

Sam had to take a moment to shake himself out of his own growing pessimism. Unsure now, whether it was what he was actually feeling or whether he was being influenced. It was like trying to find one particular needle in a pile of other almost identical needles. The idea of having his emotions influenced, himself influenced, logically Sam knew it bothered him, that it was bad news, but did he feel that and if he did, were those feelings his own.

Something really was unhappy, and seemed to be focusing in all that unhappiness on Cas.

Sam’s fingers itched for his phone, for Eileen, he glanced outside. Dean was far off in the parking lot, too far to read lips to gain any inkling of what he was saying.

He might have been crying.

He was probably crying.

Sam stared at him dumbly for a moment before pressing a hand to his neck. No headache, it had left when Cas healed him, kissed him—it had looked like that but didn’t feel that way.

It had sorta felt like dying.

The pain of it was vivid in his memory, but there was nothing to show that it had ever happened. Sam let his hand drop and looked around the room, feeling numb. Peeling wallpaper, there was the faint smell of mould in the air. A motel room like any other, at least the people next door had stopped screaming at each other.

Or killed each other, Sam thought and his gut twisted uncomfortably.

“Cas?”

The bones of Cas’ shoulder blades were sharp and shadowed, and they looked larger than they should have been, the tendons in his neck long and taut. Cas’ white hair was wet, plastered down along his neck and forehead and against the sickly pallor of his dark skin he looked bleached out.

His eyes were ringed in bruise-like hollows, but they were bright, his left, glinting like blue chips of crystal.

He cocked his head at Sam as though asking a question.

Sam unfolded himself from the wall smoothly, but tiredly. “Do you know where we should head from here?”

 _Yes_. Cas answered, and the spirit looked to him again, this time with a human sorrow.  “The more I take into myself, the better I can hear.”

Theory confirmed. Sam didn’t feel as good about that as he usually would have.

There were a million more questions he wanted to ask, a million more details that he wanted to know. They had been talking about Kami earlier, what Cas was or close to it and Sam felt as though, if they had more time, he could obsess about that forever, pick Cas’ brain and just absorb the quantities and quantities of knowledge Cas had to share.  But this was not Men of Letter’s Research, this was a hunter’s case.

And Cas was their greatest resource in this, their greatest tool. Sam had to use him.

So instead, he closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, imagining that the breath he let out pushed away cobwebs and darkness, and the breath he took in was clean, open like the sea on a clear day.

"Okay," he said again, mostly to himself. "Okay. I’ll start getting our stuff. We’re heading out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:** Not a lot of warnings as of late (but some coming up) just, Dean and Cas seeming to make some progress, Sam being introspective and Cas having a worrying case of Varicose Veins (google with caution it's squicky stuff).
> 
> Let me know what you think! <3


	27. Chapter 27

**_  
_**

**Earthly Realm, 2015**

 

 

Seated on top of the windshield of Dean’s car, Castiel gazed into the rising sun. With some effort, he could remember how the sunrise had looked before mass human occupation, lush, living, full. So much of existence was lost here, even along the side of a road relatively 'nowhere' by human standards, just because of the lack of concrete.

Looking only with one set of eyes, Castiel’s view of the land spilling out from the edges of the golden horizon was not any different to how Sam or Dean or other humans would see it.

A flock of birds sailed as close as they could to the ground. They drifted through the morning air, to an ordinary observer taking advantage of the soft dewy soil would appear to be hunting and searching for food. But if Castiel looked with his mind, mapped it all out with instinct and law, and notion, he could see they were fleeing a violent place. With every wing pull raw energy tumbled and boiled, a thrashing storm of motion and kineticism. Castiel could see tendrils of it, like floating spider’s webs, could remember the taste.

He rolled off the bonnet of the chrome metal beneath him, shifting out of one form into something more comfortable. On four legs he lumbered to the edge of the fencing they had parked beside in awe of the desperate dance in front of him.

Again, he thought of what Dean or Sam would see; birds flying in the morning light, perhaps Dean would get an inkling for the bigger picture given what he was, but still.

How motionless the world must look to them, the Winchester brothers. How silent.

Castiel pitied them.

A sharp twinge blossomed deep within Castiel’s throat. For a moment Castiel lost control of his body, falling into the barbed-wire fence in front of him. The wire dug in, nicked skin and fur. Castiel arched back, letting out a bellow more out of surprise than pain.

Falling back onto his hind quarters Castiel lifted his forepaw to his lips and licked. He rocked back and forward a little until the feeling faded to a distant blur, the corruption lessened its hold. Castiel exhaled.

Thin blood oozed from the cut, matting tiny patches of Castiel’s fur. The wound was not deep, it would heal. But Castiel rose stiffly, and padded on three paws to the small outcropping of trees in the paddock across the small back road.

Leaving the previous town, Hamburg Castiel remembered faintly, not as clean not as lovely not as home as Stowe, had been far easier than staying. Both Winchesters had said they felt much better out of the smog, out of the taint, driving on the open road.

They had driven for several hours, until the brothers had been exhausted, pulling up on the side of the road away from other densely populated human areas. Sleeping in a car, Castiel huffed, had been, well, cramped to say the least. Uncomfortable. Cold.

Sam and Dean were still asleep now.

Castiel pressed in close to the next tree he passed. Bark scratching against his side was comforting but it was not his tree, not his land. The god who was once here had long been gone, dead or returned to the Other realm, Castiel wasn’t sure. Barely a trace of them remained in this patch of forest, only a few untouched square feet between deserts of human agriculture. The Heart of this place was gone. Castiel doubted, if the original spirit of this forest lived on they would still be in possession of it. It was rare for gods to keep their Hearts with them, close by yes, but on their ‘person’?

Castiel was just glad, years ago, he had taken his own precautions.

Or did he? He couldn’t remember, the intentionality behind that moment years ago. Maybe gods never deserved the Hearts they were given. That day Castiel stepped forward and gave Dean his Heart to save him was history now.

Yet, even with his Heart safe with Dean, Castiel was afraid.

He could disconnect himself from the fear but it lingered, an unpleasant taste in the back of his throat. Fear, a primordial survival reflex, Castiel knew his own fear of death was something devastatingly human, primitive, almost. He knew death was nothing to fear, why should he fear something that occurred to all things in all realities and realms? To die was life’s purpose.

Castiel’s own purpose was to protect his forest, his land, to nurture it and keep balance. After death, Castiel would no longer be able to uphold that purpose. He couldn’t deny that that was a saddening thought.

Castiel raised his great head, glimpsing the sun through the break in the trees around him. He could picture the great swaths of disturbed energy swirling around the flying bird’s wings, see how painfully that energy faded in the golden light of the closest star to this planet. In the light of a healthy star, surrounded by even just a patch of undisturbed land was was among one of the better places to contemplate death. There was nothing in the universe that lasted forever, not forests, not stars, not lives, not Gods. Energy was always changing, reforming, exploding.

He wasn’t prepared to hear Dean’s voice.

“Cas?”

Castiel could tell just from smelling him that Dean hadn’t had nearly enough rest.

“You know, it’s kind of hard for me to be the kind of asshole who yells at you for walking off and gives you the cold shoulder when you’re so fluffy.” Dean said voice laced with sleep, booted feet shuffling and dragging through the thin undergrowth.

He came up along Castiel’s side and gestured to the ground beside him. “Mind if I sit here?”

Castiel must have given Dean some sort of affirmation as he sat, right there, right beside him; a heavy, warm, human weight Castiel wanted to sway into.

Though their bodies weren’t touching, Castiel made sure to get close enough that his warmth seeped into Dean and that he could feel Dean’s in return.

Castiel listened to Dean breathing and could sense when Dean attempted to speak but failed. He wanted to give Dean his space, knew that was what Dean needed, often wanted but he couldn’t help himself, leaning over, shifting his massive weight to snuffle his nose through Dean’s hair.

“Massive teddy bear,” Dean huffed, but Castiel could smell his smile. A hand pressed against Castiel’s furred chest. “Dude.”

Castiel backed off a little, but didn’t have to go far before Dean was leaning into him.

Several moments passed until Dean finally spoke his mind. “You doing alright?” He asked.

Dean’s question made no sense at all. Castiel was an aching mountain and couldn’t decide quite where in his essence he ached the most.

He said what Dean wanted to hear. _Yes_.

Dean closed his eyes. His voice sounded without his lips moving. _Really Cas? Going with what you think I want to hear?_

_You don’t want to hear I’m well?_

_I want to hear the truth._

_Truth is entirely subjective—_

“Can we just not be mad and sniping and upset at each other right now?” said Dean. “Can we just pretend the last week hasn’t happened, we’re home and safe and no one’s dying on me?”

 _Dean_ , Castiel said, leaning down, folding himself so he could look Dean in the eye. _I’m trying to keep from explaining to you that it’s okay if I die from this._

Dean roiled back. “No, Okay. No.” He shook his head.

_Dean—_

“You can stow all that when we die, our bodies become the grass, and the antelope eat the grass. Circle of life bull shit I got it okay, but no. No one’s dying here.”

Castiel said nothing. The imperfection of earthly language was not his fault, not Dean’s fault, but it irritated him just the same. He could shatter Dean’s bones with the force of his regret, boil his blood with worry, drown deserts, cripple mountains. If he could, in a moment he would twist a hand inside of himself and tear through the sickly dark corruption churning like a thunderstorm inside of him.

 _Dean_ , Castiel forced out, _I’m sorry._

Dean shrugged, turning his face away. He made a sound like a wet sniff and dragged his arm over his face. He turned back to Castiel, looking wounded.

_Yeah, Cas, said that already._

_I wish I could do this differently._

“I know.”

Without quite meaning to Castiel pressed in close and nuzzled Dean with his muzzle, nose pressing against Dean’s forehead and pushing back his unruly, early morning hair. It was strange how after just a few days without the usual affection between them Castiel starved felt for his touch now. Almost as aching inside him as his Kin’s own emotions, though this ache and want was entirely Castiel’s own, he knew that, he knew—he knew that was his own.

It was becoming somewhat hard to focus.

_How is Sam?_

A polite thing to ask. The right thing too. And Castiel did actually feel some concern, last night, feeling a heat and an anger reverberate off of the human that hadn’t been his own. A similar concern he had felt in the Other Realm where Sam had unintentionally joined him. Such a small human who probably meant a great deal to a lot of people, Dean included, and Castiel guessed, meant a lot individually—in his own right. It had taken Castiel several years to start seeing humans in their own right, as beings that were worth at the least some consideration and at the most affection.

Sam had been asleep in the back seat of the car, his position in the cramped space had looked anything but comfortable. There had been lines around his eyes for the moment Castiel had took him in, markers of his life, his trials, Castiel had found himself wondering then what Sam Winchester dreamed about, did he dream similarly to his brother? Did he feel similarly?

“Some bout of Godly angst went into him,” Dean said rubbing his eyes. “Kid should be more messed up then he is, more than he’s letting on anyway. Heard him clicking away at his phone a bit, when I came out to look for you.” Dean sighed.

_Dean?_

“Mmm?”

 _You’re tired_ Castiel said, _you should be resting._

“We need to keep going. Deal with this thing then go home. Sam’s, Sam’s fine I think. Can’t read the kid anymore, I don’t know.

Dean’s voice sounded less convinced than he probably meant it to. He sounded wary, anxious, full of a sleeplessness brought on by his own mind. His fear for Sam was a bright, burning thing. Castiel wanted to unfold inside of him, brush up against Dean’s mind and his own heart in Dean’s chest as he had done so many times before, comforting himself as much as he was his beloved. But he couldn’t risk it now, couldn’t corrupt Dean with what was inside him, and most certainly let the last of what remained of his pure self into contact.

Back up plans, contingency plans. Sometimes Castiel felt as though he was in hundreds of places at once. But all of him, in every reality, in every realm and form on the basest level knew one thing.

Keep Dean Winchester safe.

“Cas,” Dean said. “You’ve gotta tell me what’s going through that head of yours. Level with me, is this grabbing a nuclear bomb and flying out to the middle of the ocean or is this something we can legitimately and safely come back from?”

Soft hands dragged through Castiel’s fur.

Soft hands.

It was one of the finest sensations in existence.

 _I need to try something._ He said, while his vocal chords in this form audibly rumbled.

Dean’s hand in his fur; the warmth of it, the weight, the fact that for the first time in what felt like days Dean was touching him for longer than a few seconds when there was no immediate medical need, was bliss.

Dean’s fingers twined in the fur near Castiel’s massive jaw. “Tell me if you’re doing this because you feel guilty. Because you feel you have to, you don’t have to.”

If Castiel could have in this form, he would have sighed. It wasn’t so much a matter of guilt, removing himself so far from others of his kind that he had forgotten their voices, but rather a matter of duty. He was, as far as he knew himself, the last of his kind on this continent. If a new spirit was trying to emerge, was struggling, was in danger; Castiel was the only one who could help.

“Cas,” Dean said.

Castiel found himself looking down at Dean, nose almost pressing into his hair. “Cas, a while ago, you said I didn’t need to, to take on the burden of my own family at the risk of myself or something, remember? I needed to hear that, I really did, I was—am, so thankful you get it, but I think you’ve gotta understand that works for you too.”

“I’m not saying ignore this and let the forests burn, let people get possessed or infected or whatever. I’m not saying that. But just—look after yourself too. Let me look after you okay? I mean, my dad loved me, and cos of that he didn’t realize he took a bunch of stuff from me, my childhood, my…a bunch of other stuff. I still get to be pissed that he did that. I get to be hurt. Don’t, don’t throw out everything about yourself for family right? Or other Gods, whatever. You’re worth…you’re worth more than that. To me. To yourself.”

Castiel swayed his head in a nod. Though their situations were hardly comparable Castiel knew in Dean’s mind there was a connection, there was a desire to help, to heal. He looked at Dean, at his eyes, that colour he missed whenever he wasn’t looking at it. That rich green and burnt gold bursting out from Dean’s iris.

 _I understand,_ he said. Then added on because he felt it so. _You deserved better than your father, Dean._

Dean’s eyes narrow, his mouth folds into a firm, taut line. There’s thoughts going on inside of him then that Cas isn’t privy to. But that’s okay.

“I’m not—I’m not explaining myself right, I’m not just talking about my issues now, we’re talking about this.” _You_ , he thought but didn’t say. Either way Castiel heard him.

 _You’re stirred from your conversation with Bobby Singer yesterday._ Castiel prompted, remembering Dean’s teary face after ending the almost forty minute call. Remembering Dean shutting himself in the bathroom a long time, with the shower running and afterwards coming out dry yet with only a wet face and helping his brother to pack everything barely speaking until he helped Castiel back into the car, touched his human jaw and told him he loved him.

_It was harder for you to hear from him than it was Sam._

“Yeah, ah, no argument on that one,” said Dean. “Sam and me? Yeah, I fucked up with that, we’ve got work to do. I…I’ve got work to do, after this is all over part of me, part of me’s just excited to have him back, we’ll figure it out. Not sure how yet, but, yeah, we will. Bobby, just...” Dean shook his head. “He’s Bobby.”

That seemed all Dean was willing to shed on the subject right now. He rose, getting to his feet and scratched a little at the space behind Castiel’s ear.

“You should shift, bit hard to fit a friggen bear in the back seat you know.”

Castiel hummed a little, while his stomach rolled. The car was distinctly unpleasant, and it only felt worse the further and further they travelled from his land.

Castiel rose up on four paws and padded away some steps. When he shifted, he did so thoughtlessly and emerged human, naked and a little cold.

Castiel had grown used to wearing clothes, jeans, soft shirts, freeing dresses and skirts and scuffed boots with thick treads. He had grown to despise all forms of underwear, bras and socks. Walking with Dean back to the car, with Dean’s jacket around his waist (‘Sam will care,’ Dean had said, but Castiel knew that, even after so many years, Dean cared a little bit too, especially when Castiel took a biologically female form) Castiel was not looking forward to slipping into clothes again, the car already felt too constricting.

“Oh, dude.” Sam said as they wandered back over. He covered his eyes and turned his whole body away, as though personally offended.

Humans and nudity, a strange relationship Castiel was certain he would never understand.

“You’re acting like you haven’t seen boobs before Sam.” Dean smirked, but riffled through the back until he pulled out a soft, large shirt and softer skirt. He handed them over.

The clothes were Castiel’s own, familiar, and they pulled him back to a thousand days and nights of neat stiffness that now felt enclosing, unburying that sense of being trapped in a shell of flesh and blood and bone, both him and not him.

The Winchesters talked while Castiel dressed, looking out around them, this dingy back road, trying to squint and see with his thousands of eyes, now blind in comparison to what he could see in the Other Realm.

Castiel tried to stretch out one last time before being constrained to the back of the enclosed car. He felt himself pass through the chrome walls, stretch out across the dewy grass, filling every corner on this back road and paddock, forgetting the constraint of time and space for a moment so he could just be.

There were often times like this where Castiel would return back to himself, open his human eyes to find Dean across their kitchen table from him or staring at him from the doorway of a room with a furrow in his brow and a worried expression twisting his lips.

Dean was wearing a similar expression now when Castiel opened his eyes. Sam was still looking pointedly away, as Castiel had yet to do up his shirt.

“I have as many eyes as I do faces.” Castiel said aloud, looking at Dean. If prompted, in human terms he would be unable to explain why he felt the need to say that then, but since when did Gods have to justify the words they spoke and who they spoke them too.

The corruption wriggled down Castiel’s throat, throbbed painfully in the joints in his hands.

Sam had seen his true form, was the only human to ever have. A feeling, hot, unpleasant rolled through Castiel at that thought—not against Sam in any way but rather at the loss that made him feel. To have Sam be the one human that had truly seen him and not Dean?

Many times Castiel wished Dean could get the chance to see him, he’d never thought it possible until now.

Maybe, as Dean said, once all this was over.

Castiel tried not to hold onto that wish too tightly. He worked the buttons closed on his shirt.

“Sounds hot.” Dean said, looking back at him. Something in his voice, in his eyes. He understood enough, more than most.

Castiel smiled a little, looked down. Smoothed out the material over his breasts, his stomach. “Quite literally, yes.”

Their eyes met for a long moment. A moment in which they were both back home.

Sam just glanced between the two of them, ran a hand through his already unruly hair. “Oh-kay, we got a direction to head in yet? I’m thinking breakfast but if there’s more places infected like Hamburg, maybe we should—”

“Michigan.”  Castiel said.

Dean blinked and looked away. “You sure?”

Castiel just looked at him. Dean threw up his hands.

“Right. Right, okay. So, er, is the spirit there now or?”

“The resonance is leading me that way,” Castiel explained. “As we get closer I should get a stronger feeling for my Kin’s current location, yes.”

“So less of following a trail and more like following a beacon?” Dean said, Sam looked intrigued on his other side. “Not following everywhere it’s been, uh, affecting and more just circling in on it? Just trying to understand the process is all.”

“I hear better the closer we are.” Castiel explained. Thinking of their last stop, he added: “but we should stay outside of highly populated areas.”

“So, taking the long way and skipping Niagra Falls?”

“Yes.”

Both Winchesters, Castiel noted faintly, climbing into the vehicle, seemed disappointed by that.

Inside, on the move, Dean flicked on the radio, Sam muttered something under his breath. Castiel’s wrist still ached. The earth roiled, unseen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked that <3 I love writing Cas pov. See you all in two weeks!


	28. Chapter 28

**_  
_**

**Somewhere in Michigan, 2015**

 

It was when he was waking up from a nap in the back seat that Sam overheard Dean and Cas talking quietly. He watched Cas lean into the space between the front seats, overly large flannel swallowing him as he said something with his voice lowered as though trying to give the two of them the illusion of privacy, though Sam could still hear every word.

“I won’t alright?” Dean was saying, his voice edging close to irritation.

“It is just a precaution Dean. Proximity, closeness only seems to exasperate—”

“Yeah I know alright? Dealt with this for years, don’t touch dead and dying shit, life for a life, I get it.” Dean cut in. Sam heard him exhale deeply, then say again a little quieter. “Is that, are you the reason why I’m not getting affected like Sammy? Like, maybe I’ve been messed with too many times on a spirit level you know?”

“Messed with?”

“You know what I mean.”

There was a rustle of fabric as Cas started removing clothing.

“You’re lucky Sammy’s asleep. Dude’s a prude about naked chicks, I mean, I remember this one time, when he was twelve—”

Dick, Sam thought and cast his eyes down while Cas undressed a little awkwardly still buckled into the front seat.

“It was—oh, hey, you know that’s not safe driving behaviour babe.”

_ You’ll manage. Lift up your shirt I’m cold. _

“Hey gotta keep it ten and two man, you never know what’ll jump out on these back roads—”

_ Shhhh, Dean. Relax. Unwind a window. _

They went quiet. Sam waited another few minutes before lifting his cheek of the passenger door, the window still beating sound into his skull from the road travelled.  Even in the cool of the car with the windows down, it was hot. Sweat was starting to bead across Sam’s brow and stain his shirt dark with clammy patches. 

He tensed up at the crick in his neck, rolled back his shoulders and peered into the front. Only Cas’ clothes were in the seat beside Dean. 

“Hey, sleepy head.” Dean smiled. He glanced back behind him to Sam for a moment then focused back ahead, leading them around a sharper corner. “Water?”

Trees rose up like barricade walls on either side of the car. Sam couldn’t tell where they were, where precisely they were going but somehow that didn’t matter. Dean was driving, that was something comforting about that. He was driving with one hand on the wheel the other was on the bulge against his stomach beneath his shirt.

A bulge that was furred and white and had a little fluffy foot sticking out.

Sam smiled and sat back in his seat just as Dean lifted his hand from Cas’ rump and chucked him a bottle of water.

“Where are we?” Sam asked after sculling down half the bottle. Damn, he had needed that.

“About an hour out of Detroit, twenty minutes outta Jackson. We’re sticking to the back roads, Cas says we’ve gotta keep heading North.”

Detroit, okay. Sam looked out the window. “Detroit is where the first case popped up.”

_ It is not our point of origin, merely a dead zone, _ said Castiel from under Dean’s shirt.  _ We are not going there. _

Sam leaned forward again and frowned at the lump in Dean’s lap. “Dead zone?”

“Dude’s adamant man.” Dean said to Sam, his hand back over his stomach, he scratched a little at Castiel’s fur. “No Detroit. No big cities. Hell no small cities, just gas station chips and crusty coffee. Which are somehow around here more eerie than normal.”

“Everything’s eerie.” Sam said, thoughts running through his head. He stretched down to the floor and grabbed his phone. “When was the last time we even passed another car?”

“Umm, three, maybe four hours back?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, we’ve gotta stop soon, I need a break.” Dean shifted around in his seat. Rolled his shoulder. “These long car trips man, love’em, but gotta hate em too. I mean, this car ain’t the impala, you still got her Sammy? Dad’s ride?”

“Yeah, uh, if you need a break I can take over.” Sam offered. He hated bringing it up, Dean had always gotten a bit weird about people driving their dad’s Impala, of course this car wasn’t that but still. Dean carried a lot on his shoulders and dealt with that weight in weird ways Sam couldn’t really comprehend. He remembered growing up, thinking his big brother was invincible, a steady constant, and remembered that tight knot of panic in his stomach he got when he first realised, after Dean disappeared, that Dean really wasn’t invincible and maybe Sam thinking that was part of what drove him away.

In comparison to some of their more recent stops, this country road was almost normal. But even here, Sam could feel an awful sort of twisting sensation deep down, a constant reminder that all was not well with the world. They hadn’t seen any cars any other travellers and probably most noticeably, no wildlife at all. 

_ No rest for the wicked. _ Cas said. 

Sam huffed a weak laugh and pulled hair from off his forehead.

Dean glanced down at Cas, flexing his fingers on the wheel. “Hey Bugs, you saying we’re wicked?”

_ Concepts of right and wrong conduct are inherently flawed— _

“Alright Socrates stuff it—hey no nibbling!”

They were avoiding, Sam knew, just as he knew that avoidance wouldn’t make their problems go away. Their hunting was feeling more like running now, no real leads, no real idea how to even begin fixing a problem they couldn’t even name yet and there are lives here that can be saved.

Castiel nodded but doesn't say anything, turning back to watch the countryside rolling by through the window. On both sides of the highway, stalks of corn pushed up against the road, moving in the wind like an endless expanse of golden ocean waves.

"We should meet take a break, recoup. I’ll get onto Bobby and Eileen—”

A white whiskered face and two floppy ears ducked out from beneath Dean’s shirt, Cas got up on his hind legs, back against Dean’s chest.  _ Stop, something’s wrong. _

Dean slowed them to a crawl, but already Sam could see up ahead something of a procession, around twenty people stood in the way of the road clutching gardening tools and shovels and…Sam spotted the barrel of a rifle and grabbed Dean’s shoulder.

Cas flew between the front seats, off of Dean’s lap and into the back with Sam as Dean stopped before the wall of people. 

“Jesus,” Sam said, taking them all in. “Do you think they’re—”

“Ain’t got black veins or eyes or nothing. Not sure if they’re infected but—”

An older man with a rashy face rapped the hilt of his shovel on the ground and started walking toward them. “Get out of the car.”

Clear, if not raspy English, as though he hadn’t had a drink for awhile. But it sounded like his own voice, not a broken god speaking through him, not anything

Still, a threat.

“Head round the side.” Said Sam grabbing a pistol from the duffle beneath his feet.

Dean nodded, expression settled into something firmer, cooler. Any soft domesticity that had been starting to creep back in since they’d hit the open road was gone now. He was a Man of Letters, the son of a hunter.

Just like Sam was.

“Hey now, alright, we’re cool just passing through.” Dean said, getting out with both his hands up, his palms out. Sam followed from the back seat tucking his pistol into the back of his waistband (reckless but necessary) throwing out both his hands too.

Cas jumped out of the back seat after Sam as a wolf, huge painful patches of black still visible under his thick coat of snow white fur. Cas got a reaction from the small crowd, more than a couple of people stepping back, brandishing their weapons a little tighter. 

Cas came to stand by Sam’s side, fur brushed against Sam’s jeans and for a second he felt the urge to reach down and ground himself a little in that fur.

But that would be rude, right? Cas he looked rough for a wolf. Not something glowing and white or something almost ethereal but messy, dirty, patchy. Beaten and dragged along this little planet called Earth.

But there was still power there, dormant, a power that was pretty damn comforting to have beside you, staring down an armed mass of panicky civilians.

“We don’t want any trouble here,” Sam called out instead, to the man, to the crowd, trying to ease them as much as their apparent leader. “We just need to go north, just passing through.”

Dean nodded and wriggled his fingers a little. “We’re friendly.”

The man stepped forward.

Castiel growled.

One of the women in the crowd cocked her shotgun.

“You should turn around.” said the man in front. His voice wavered but there was steel underneath. “You should turn around. You can’t come through here.”

Sam watched Dean take a few steps forward, hand still up. Uncaring for the crowd, Castiel brushed past Sam, rounded in on Dean until it was him that was closest to the mob than either hunter. Dean stepped up alongside him, equals, then extended one hand down a little and did what Sam had been thinking off. He grabbed at Cas’ fur, almost a pet, almost a pull, and kept him close.

Cas’ rumbling growl fell quiet.

“Listen pal, we don’t have much of a choice here, we just need to head north, no stopping, no bothering you or your people.”

The crowd murmured their panic manifesting as a hushed whisper. Cas’ constipated squint looked even bitchier as a wolf. He seemed to be stretching out, exploring the area and crowd in front of them with something other than human senses.

The main man upfront tracked Cas with his eyes, he said nothing. It was another man that spoke up, younger, haggard looking two-day old stubble, his clothes ratty and dirty.

“No, you don’t understand.” He stepped forward and shook his head, eyes looking bloodshot. Scared. “There’s something wrong with Grass Lake Charter.”


	29. Chapter 29

**_  
_**

 

The second time Dean died was very different from the first.

A forest road, a moment behind the wheel distracted, a deer on the road then rolling, rolling, rolling, rolling.

Dean had been dead before he’d known it.

 

Later, in hospital, he woke up and knew his chest was bursting, stronger now than the first time, with something that wasn’t entirely his own.

Cas had been there right beside his bed. Cas had been there he had explained; “Dean-”

Breathe in.

_Dean, you are whole, you are a whole complete person once more, I have made it so and so it is._

“W-what, Cas?”

_You hold my Heart, my whole Heart. You’re my breath, for as long as my Heart beats within your chest, you will live._

Breathe out.

“Fuck,” Dean remembered saying, groggy on pain killers, groggy on life. He’d sat up in the hospital bed and scratched at the IV he didn’t really need, because Cas brought him back. “That’s fucked Cas, that’s a lot of—” pressure, expectation, power, trust, intrusion. “Fuck.”

 

After, when Dean came home, he moved out of his and Cas’ place and into Pam’s for a couple of months.

When he eventually moved back, he sat Cas down (had insisted he be human for it) and for the first time in four years thought to ask Cas to explain everything Dean had taken fore-granted.

And Cas had.

 _We are bonded._ Cas had said, as he’d said many times before and would say many times to come. Often Dean had taken it as romantic, had thought it was an emotional bonding, but now, now that he knew, now that he realised, it felt like a violation.

_Have been so the moment I first breathed life into your corpse at the bottom of that ravine. I’ve been feeding you portions of my Heart for years to help you recover, to sustain you, to keep you living sometimes just because I could._

_But I never asked your permission, I never asked if you were willing to be._

 

“Consent is human.” Cas had said aloud. Dean had considered fighting on that, but when he looked at the bigger picture, really sat down and thought about it yeah, consent, something human, something equal, something Cas didn’t learn until after he’d healed Dean. That first time.

Dean had left it for awhile, only using that strange tingle in his chest when he wasn’t thinking, or when he felt it was important.

Throughout Lisa’s second pregnancy, that time Pamela sprained her wrist “doing yoga”, Cas’ usual aches and bumps, Benny’s bad back, Hell, Dean kept telling the guy he needed to see a chiropractor.

Then Sammy'd come back, standing there in a tiny, run down convenience store, in Dean’s town. Sammy’d come back and he’d needed healing, freaking out as he saw Cas that first time, almost making his brain ooze out of his head, damn kid.

“He would have healed on his own. A non fatal injury.” Cas told Dean while Sam had been showering, readying for a hunt, God, a hunt with his brother.

Dean hadn’t looked at Cas as he answered. “If you had the power to take away the hurt of the people you loved, if only just a little, wouldn’t you Cas?”

Cas stared at him from across the kitchen table, sipped magnanimously at his coffee, saying nothing.

“Exactly,” said Dean, and he kept healing Sam, just a little bit, every time he touched him.

Driving into Grass Lake Charter, Sammy sleeping in the back, Cas with him up front, would be the perfect road trip, y’know, under different circumstances.

“I won’t alright?” Dean said, trying to keep his tone even.

“It is just a precaution Dean. Proximity, closeness only seems to exasperate—”

“Yeah I know alright? Dealt with this for years, don’t touch dead and dying shit, life for a life, I get it. I'll keep this part of you safe alright, I've done so this long haven't I?” Dean cut in. Took a breath, a moment to collect his thoughts. “Is that, are you the reason why I’m not getting affected like Sammy?  Like, maybe I’ve been messed with too many times on a spirit level you know?”

“Messed with?”

That tone of voice, Dean had just rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

Cas did know, Dean knew that. And his silence had spoken louder than any words could’ve.

Course then there had been a bunch of creepy nomads standing in the middle of the damn road.

**_  
_**

**Just Outside Grass Lake Charter Twp, Michigan, 2015**

 

The man’s name was Nathan, the younger guy, Tyler and the woman with the shotgun walking behind them was yet to have a name, but Dean didn’t need to know her name to know she enough power in her hand to blow Dean’s sweet little ass to pieces.

And not in the good way.

They walked fifteen minutes past the roadblock, along the road, a strange little mob forcing Dean, Sam and Cas out ahead. Dean made sure to walk with one hand pressing down between Cas’ furred shoulder blades, he could feel a steel line of tension running down Cas’ back, every few steps Cas would turn his head to the stragglers behind them (a good few feet back) and Tyler and Nathan up front and snarl. A low, animal noise, that had more than a few of the stragglers falling back and casting Cas terrified looks.

Cas seemed to be repressing whatever instinct he had to lash out, thank fuck, sticking close in between Sam and Dean, only falling behind when the woman with the gun got too close and antsy, forcing her back.

They got to a roadside motel, a populated roadside motel. The place looked mostly intact, old, crappy with some peeling paint but solid. There were a couple of cars and tents littered outside of it, all of them seeming lived in.

The group behind started to break up and filter in around them as they got closer, moving like a herd, many with their fronts and eyes on the three of them, moving enough like an animal herd that it gave Dean the creeps. Sam frowned as he watched them, Dean shifted on his feet and flexed his fingers in Cas’ fur, half’a scratch, half’a pull. It was as though they had stumbled into some cultish camp out, a spooked cultish camp out, judging by the amount of people who retreated to their rooms, tents and cars and pulled out their guns.

Fuck.

It wasn’t just Dean on the utter edge either, Cas had this unfocused, distant sort of look as he padded a little away from Dean’s side. His voice was deep and solemn, Dean not quite sure he was speaking to Sam too until Sam blinked and looked toward them. Something isn’t right here.

Yeah, well, normal people would hear a God say that, get a clue then get the fuck outta dodge, not Dean, not Men of Letters, not Hunters.

Which was probably why they ended up dying all the time, shit.

Nathan led them across the small parking-turned-camping lot. Dean could hear on either side of them people starting to liven up, turning to each other to say; “who are they?”, “poor bastards” and “do they know?”

Sam on Cas’ other side, looked right ahead at Nathan and Tyler’s backs as he said: "They're all looking at us."

“Yep. We’re the new shiny toy.” Cas you getting a read on any of them?

Padding along on his paws Cas said nothing. Dean watched him bare his teeth to the nearest couple huddled by their tent. The noise he made was a low, angry, rumble.

 _Cas,_ Dean sent out and tugged a little at Cas’ fur. _You hear me man, what’s the read?_

Cas’ huffing breath came hot as he shrugged off Dean’s hand, and turned his nose into Dean’s palm, sniffing him. _This place… seethes with suffering._

Dean pulled his hand back through Cas’ fur and scratched him between the ears. It was not exactly an answer but it was enough to give him a shitty feeling right in the middle of his gut. Everything around here felt off.

They got through most of the group and right into the middle of the campsite without a single shot being fired, success in Dean’s mind. Apart from Nathan, Tyler and their gun wielding bodyguard not a single other person even came close. The people looked worn and tired and curious, not aggressive, not spirit-y, Dean thought to himself, still he flexed his fingers down to his side as Nathan turned around.

He sighed as they came up to the motel, he spoke to the woman behind them. “You can put that away Beth, none of these guys are gonna fight you.”

It was the first thing the man had said since ‘escorting’ them from the road. The woman behind them, Bess, made a sound that was something of a grunt.

“Nathan I—”

“They’re not like em.”

Bess’ eyes kept flicking between Sam, Dean and Cas, although her gun was no longer trained on anyone in particular.

“Who aren’t we like?” Sam asked in that gentle way of his, though tinged with unease.

Nathan scrubbed a hand over his rashy face. “Damn, well the rest of the people of Grass Lake Charter that’s who. Everyone we’ve all come across on the road, in the woods, they’re all—”

“Like zombie’s.” Tyler cut in when Nathan petered off. “Half the town’s still in there somewhere, catatonic, and they just started, started burning everything, burning clothes, houses, businesses and livelihoods? Some black smog or smoke just washed all on over everything, and there was a fire.”

Dean turned over every possibility, even non-existent clue or phenomena they’d come across, so all that shit was here too, coming up with nothing but damaged shit and ruined lives. Fucken—

“Grass Lake’s gotta be bigger than twenty people?” said Sam.

Nathan’s face crumpled, he said nothing. Tyler, when he spoke, did so slowly, as though recounting something that had happened to someone else, some other town. “It was. We’re what’s left. Nothing works - no electricity here, no phones, couple feet more and your car would’ve conked out.”

“Really?” Sam asked.

“And with all this is happening, with half your town…zombiefied,” Dean tried, looking between the three people in front of him, “you didn’t think to go for help? Send up a Bat Signal?”

Bess’ expression puckered. Tyler shrugged his shoulders. “How can we? We’re stuck here. Can’t leave.”

Oh shit.

“Oh, shit.”  Dean heard Sam mutter under his breath. Between them Cas shifted, for the first time turning away from the people around them to focus in on Bess, Nathan and Tyler.

Dean felt himself frown. “What do you mean you can’t leave?”

Nathan swiped at his nose with varnish or polish stained fingers. “Try walking away from town in any direction, you get half a mile or so then can’t.”

“Kinda like limbo then,” said Dean. “You all camping out here, can’t go in the town, can’t get away from it.”

Nathan, Bess and Tyler all looked at him with the same expression, the same disquieting, blank look that Dean didn’t like one iota. “…Yeah.”

Nathan turned from them then and threw out one arm out to the motel. “You can rest up here. Most of us around have made this place our own. The ones who aren’t only comfortable sleeping in their cars and gear.” He looked at Dean then Sam in turn, eyes carefully avoiding Cas. “You can stay a moment to refresh.”

Yep, right, Dean nodded his head but let Sam speak: “If we could go back to our car and get our belongings.”

“They’re already being brought around for you,” said Tyler.

Dean tensed up at that and glanced behind him, the people seemed to be going on about their own business, a couple maybe were looking over at them, or mainly looking over at Cas.

“Are you,” Nathan started then tried again. “Are you all planning to head into town?”

“Course they will,” said Bess. “Men like them always do.”

Dean looked to her. “Excuse me?”

While Sam ignored it. “We can help, we can help stop whatever is doing this and break whatever is holding your people here.

Nathan closed his eyes, opened them again. “Can you now.”

“Yes.” Sam told him. “We just need somewhere to regroup, some of our belongings from our car, I swear no one here will be harmed, we’re just trying to help.”

“Help, hmm.” Nathan said shortly, and then started to turn away as though this conversation is over. “Doesn’t seem as though there’s a lot you can do to help; given you’re stuck here now with us all.”

Bess was scowling at them but Dean let it go.

From the way Tyler’s eyes narrowed, Dean guessed he understood something of their motivation. But he made no comment, something to follow up later, Dean tucked that thought away and grounded his hand in Cas’ fur.

“You’d be surprised about what we can do,” he found himself saying, knowing all too acutely that they had at least a dozen eyes and ears on them. They needed to regroup outta the limelight. “Is there anywhere we can get outta this sun for a minute, maybe freshen up?”

Dean followed Nathan to one of the motel rooms, feeling the sense of wrongfulness swell and thicken with every step. He wanted to leave, get out of the motel. Hell, get out of the whole damn area.

But apparently they couldn’t even do that.

 

_________

 

Though the room Nathan left them too was obviously being used, dust covered almost every surface, a thick layer blanketing the windowsill and the table.

“Digs,” Dean said and rolled back his stiff shoulders. “Didn’t expect it.”

Castiel shifted closer to Dean, and Dean watched how his dark and bruised skin was showing through the snow white of his fur, built for winter andnot a boiling day like this. That said though, Cas was shivering.

“You picking anything up about how close we are? Cas?” Dean tried to quell the shivers with a light touch to the back of Cas’ head, that place he liked at the base of his neck. “Cas?”

Cas hadn't heard the question. Hadn’t heard anything by the way he just stood there, slumped a bit against Dean’s side. In the kitchenette Sam had stopped rifling through the appliances, he looked at Cas too.

"Cas?" Dean prompted again, and Cas turned to him. "I asked you a question,"

"Dude," Sam frowned. "You seem kind of out of it."

 _I don't like this place, these people they’re…_ Cas padded further into the room, swaying a little, as though dazed, that made no sense at all. Focus has never been a problem for Cas before; dude was all about attunement, having this single-minded focus that put any effort by Dean to concentrate to shame.

Dean was pulled out on his thoughts by Cas’ wet nose bumping his hand. _I’m alright._

Cas was always putting his own needs second to Dean’s, his own discomfort. Cas always noticed when something wasn’t alright with Dean, Dean suspected it was because a part of him was always humming away inside Dean, or maybe just that he was always watching, that he knew Dean’s body better even than Dean himself.

In public, Dean would place a hand on Cas’ shoulder or animal equivalent, shoot him a small smile, and it was always enough to quell any rising panic or anxiety. When they were alone Dean would run his fingers through Cas’ hair or fur or whatever he had and if he felt like it or if Cas needed it, he’d kiss him. There was no time now for much of that.

"Just concentrate on me," Dean grinned, tried to grin, then said more seriously, "I don't like how spacey you are, we'll get out of here as soon as we can, yeah?"

There was a thump against the closed front door. Dean ducked out just in time to see a man walking away and their duffels on the porch. Dean looked about a bit, grabbed both bags and dragged them inside. Only Sam was in the room now, Dean glanced to the closed bathroom just as the shower started to run.

“He’s acting weird,” He nodded his head to the bathroom, chucking their bags beside the two beds. “They’re all acting weird right?”

“This is fucked-up,” Sam said eventually, digging fingers hard into his forehead. “Even for us.”

“Kinda makes it hard to keep doing what we’re doing then If we can’t friggen go anywhere.”

Sam sighed. “Into town I suppose, that’s our ground zero.”

“Awesome” Dean sighed and poked around the kitchen. “Let’s just Walking Dead this thing, stroll into a town apparently filled with black infected zombie people, search for a baby god.”

“You make it sound so easy.” Sam smirked.

Dean snorted.

The lightness helped, the laugh helped. But the balance the three of them had found now felt wrong somehow, like a brittle, twiggy thing, precarious and without foundation.

Dean felt drawn northwards, a tugging in his chest that was like seeking like. It made him wonder if it was a tenth or something of what Cas had been feeling since they started this, if maybe this was the little bit of Cas that was him starting to react. Like calling to like.

There was no logic to it though, not as Dean could understand it, and he finally got what Cas had been saying about a stone in the water and ripples stretching out. He could feel it. There was no method to the effects from this thing, to the infection or disappearances or burnings because feeling, gut feeling and emotion didn’t work with logic or reason. Their investigation; site after site of empty spaces left behind, of people unknowingly affected but all in different ways, was as chaotic and random as nature itself. Just as unrelenting. Dean could feel it.

Sam sighed heavily and asked, "Are you freaking out right now?"

Over the years, from hunting from research, Dean knew he and Sam had visited their fair share of places with shitty or downright uncomfortable weather, today, here was no exception. The sun was so god damn pleasant about them, filling the motel room in a bath-warm light that Dean’s shirt was already stuck to his torso in about fifty different places, even Sam looked uncomfortable, flannel already tied around his waist, as he looked at Dean he pulled his long hair up, and piled it on top of his head in a knot.

If Dean wasn’t so strained and tired, he would’ve said something.

"No," Dean breathed, because it was the only thing he could think to say. "We'll figure this out. And I won't let anything happen to you again. To Cas, or anyone."

Sam looked up at him, and there's was something painful and so raw in his expression that Dean just wanted to look away. "And I won't let anything happen to you, or Cas either," Sam said, voice low, earnest.

They had each other’s backs, they could do this.

Dean pretended as though his voice didn’t catch in his throat. A beat passed before he managed a soft, "Yeah, man. Okay."

"Right now, this is just a normal hunt.” Sam said, Dean got the feeling more to himself than for his benefit. “Job doesn't stop just because the world is ending. Or something."

“Or something, yeah.”

 

___________

 

Castiel bathed for what he suspected was several minutes too long in the shower, turning the temperature up so that the spray was scolding. He relished in the sensation of the water pouring heat into his goose pimpled, human skin, sliding down the plain of his flat chest, gathering in the thatch of hair between his legs, pooling between his toes.

It bothered him, how easily affected he was by something as simple as emotion. It was another uncomfortable reminder of just how much his kin was suffering, of how tethered to a physical body Castiel was in this realm, and the consequences of that tethering.

Of his own failing.

“I’m going to go look around, see If I can talk to anyone.”

Though the brothers had begun communicating silently, they thought rather loudly.

_Talk to him._

_You Talk to him._

_Dean._

_Sam._

Castiel rested his forehead against the wet tile in front of him. _The both of you,_ he spoke.

Both boys fell silent.

Minutes passed, water gathered in Castiel’s human navel. A knock on the door and then Dean was there, poking his head inside, radiating worry.

“Cas? Baby?”

Castiel leant more heavily against the shower wall.

“Just wanted to come check on you,” Dean said with a smile Castiel didn’t have the energy to decode. “Make sure you didn’t drown.”

“I can’t drown.” Castiel reminded him, his words came out sharper than he intended, he felt Dean withdraw a little. “Not in this realm at least.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean huffed, frustration, sadness, evident in his voice. Or perhaps that was Castiel’s own, or his kin’s, or anything really.

Everything was mixed up, a muddled echo chamber of feelings that both were and were not his own.

It was suffocating.

“Cas, please.” Dean said, voice too low under the sound of the running water. He shut the door with a click behind him.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you Dean.”

Dean regarded him with eyes that were entirely too human.

“M’worried about you.” Dean swallowed hesitation. He stepped toward Castiel with his flannel sleeves rolled up, ignoring the already open shower curtain, he reached inside, touched the water swore, then grasped the cold tap. “I’m always worried about you.”

The sudden lukewarm water stung, freezing Castiel’s blood, chilling his core. He flinched back and only relaxed once Dean had divested his own clothes and slipped in naked behind him.

Castiel took a deep breath, forcing himself calm. “Where’s Sam?” he asked, going for neutral as Dean’s hands slid around his waist. They were warm.

“Gone to do some snooping, Hunter stuff y’know.” Dean spoke and turned his face up into the spray of water. “Gonna go out and join him, but I wanted—”

“You wanted?” Castiel asked turning around in Dean’s arms. At the complicated twist to Dean’s mouth he leant forward and placed a quick, selfish kiss against his jaw. Before he could step back under the spray Dean let forward, held on and turned his lips to kiss him back.

When Dean kissed Castiel, it was as though a storm was breaking out over a parched desert. Dean’s tongue was warm, his lips soft, he tasted human and dirty and felt slick beneath Castiel’s human fingers. Dean kissed him slow, in that way he knew Castiel liked, and did often for Castiel’s benefit, mouth opening gently, actions causing Castiel’s head to tip back as he kissed him deep and long.

They pressed together, Castiel felt his shoulder blades thump against the tiles, not because Dean pushed him, but because he allowed himself to be pushed. It hurt, Castiel’s skin feeling raw, colder now without at least some water, he was careful to switch them around, press them together. Dean’s thighs opened to allow Castiel room to slot between them, press up against the soft swell of his stomach and thighs—trophies of their domesticity— and take Dean up in one wet, aching palm.

Dean whimpered at the touch, they both had already had too many days without this and to Castiel’s satisfaction he was already hard enough that he wouldn’t notice Castiel’s own lack of arousal. Dean’s hands on Castiel’s shoulders, his waist, were hungry, needy. It was an unwise activity to engage in here, now, and possibly the worst way to avoid another fight but they were both volatile beings at their core, wrapped within a bizarre symmetry with one another that was undeniably dangerous.

Castiel worked Dean in his hand, smooth wet movement, made gluggy with Dean’s pre-come. He worked his fist down Dean’s shaft, once, twice, again, again. He knew how Dean liked to be touched, how to break Dean Winchester apart, he knew, he knew, he knew.

His thumb swiped over Dean’s damp slit, nail teaching the notched flesh, Dean a hand in his own hair, the other clutched onto Cas, rolled his hips up into the familiar, warm tunnel. When Castiel reached down with his other hand and alternated stroking the skin between Dean’s legs, behind his genitals, and gently rolling his balls, Dean almost lost it, head smacking back painful against the shower wall.

“Cas, C-Cas,” he moaned then let out a long, soul-deep, painful groan. Fingers spasming and grasping, body tensing, alive with light and love and energy.

They can have this now. Castiel will let Dean have this.

Dean was beautiful within orgasm. Is back arched against the tiles, his hips thrust up into Castiel’s hand, helpless to the pleasure that washed over him. Come spurted from his cock in heavy, warm pulses, and the sight of him, the sight of it filled Castiel up so completely, so overwhelmingly that it was impossible to classify the sensation as either pleasure or pain.

After a while and a thorough wipe down, Dean dragged them both out of the shower. Castiel dried them both with a simple touch, then shifted out of his human body, too cold to remain nude and human for long.

Wearing an old, rather haggard looking towel, Dean buried his fingers in Castiel’s fur, a touch as loving as it was grounding, Castiel followed him into the other room.

“We’re gonna figure this out alright? One hundred percent. Together okay, we’ll get you right, get these people right.” Dean sat on one of the two beds and Castiel jumped up beside him, the whole frame creaked.

The mattress dipped as Dean lay down, then muttered, "Come here." Tiredly, Castiel did as was asked of him.

Dean curled around Castiel as they lay down. Pressed up fully all along Cas’ side, his voice was low, his mouth so close to Castiel's skin through his fur he felt the movement of Dean's jaw, the breath from his lips as he spoke.

"You and Sammy," Dean said, voice very quiet and thick as though he was having trouble talking. "You guys mean more to me than I know how to say. Remember that. We'll figure this out."

There was a long pause. A comforted moment amidst the chaos where Castiel became conscious of his own beating Heart in Dean’s chest, a pure, even pulse. Something heavy and calming.

He felt the press of Dean's mouth to the fur about his head, the corner of his thin, wolfish lips, the space at the back of his head. All feather-light touches, all for his own benefit. Dean wrapped his arms tighter around Castiel and pulled him in tight to the curve of his body. Castiel's impulse was to sit up, to stay alert, not be so close to a human in this form in such an intimate way, but this was Dean.

Castiel occupied himself with burying his face into the cheap motel pillow, nose turned toward Dean to pick up on his scent. Ivory soap, sweat, he licked at Dean’s fingers when they combed through his fur and tasted salt.

He turns his head for a moment, and watched Dean lay so easily atop of the motel bed. The later evening light washed over his skin, highlighting the shadows around his eyes, the dark scruff at his cheekbones. Neither Winchester boy had shaved in days, or gotten much sleep. Castiel knew that, he had been watching.

Dean pressed a kiss to the end of Castiel’s nose, causing a shiver to trail through Castiel’s entire body.

“We got this.” Dean said, as Castiel closed his eyes, for the first time in days feeling as though at home.

We do. Castiel said from the safety of Dean's arms. Maybe for once, he thought, he’d actually get some restful sleep.

Quiet fell between them, the slowing of heartbeats. After a while Castiel slowly lost himself, lulled by the steadiness of Dean's breaths, the warmth of his skin.

As he dreamed a voice cried out for him.

 

_______

 

If there was one thing Sam knew for sure it was that no one really knew anything.

And that included himself.

His phone wasn’t working; no one’s phones were working. So Sam couldn’t check if there were reports of unusual weather, unusual occurrences or an entire blackout in the Grass Lake area. No one in the site seemed overly alarmed that they had essentially been cut off from the rest of the world, somehow physically, somehow digitally. Sam had walked his way about the half a mile or so prescribed boundary (aware that he was being watched) and had found himself unable to cross further, the only open space funneled right into road leading into town.

Most of the people barely even seemed to notice as Sam walked among them, scouting the area out, watching people interact, well, whatever it was they were doing. There was no life here, with these people, Sam had thought, watching people as he passed by their parked cars and tents back from the edge of the border. He had to wonder whether the people had always been this way, or if something had happened to change them.

Watching them made Sam feel cold, disquieting given the weather and his own sweaty brow. There is a hollowness to everything: to the streets, empty of cars, to the shops, empty of customers, to the motel, empty of guests.

Sam looked up from the hole he was digging out with the toe of his boot as Dean, freshly washed because of course, came toward him.

“How’s Cas?” Sam asked, unsure if really, they should be leaving him alone right now.

“Asleep.”

Sam frowned at Dean’s expression. “That weird or?”

“Yeah, weird. I dunno man he’s like, cold? I think the closer we get the shittier he feels. But that’s just—” Dean looked off into the middle distance, and scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “This is his choice.” He stared off a moment then focused in on Sam, voice soft, voice so helplessly Dean. “How you feeling Sammy?” he asked.

“Fine.” Sam answered and repressed a shiver.

“Fine, these guys fine or fine, fine?”

“Uhh, fine fine, look, Dean, I think we should scope around a bit, I’ve talked with a couple of people and, well, they haven’t really been too helpful but someone here has to have some information, so clue as to what’s waiting for us in town.”

“Yeah, that’s an, ah, idea.”

“You okay?”

“I’m okay, sorry just, Cas.” Dean chewed on his lower lip. “We splitting? Cos I think more than half of the people here will just about shit themselves just having one of us approach them.”

“Yeah they look sort of freaked out right?” Sam said.

Dean shrugged. “Civilians get like that. Y’know.”

Right, yep civilians, something Dean was or well, had wanted to be. Yet here they were. Dealing with all ‘this’.

“Here in an hour?” Dean asked reaching over and squeezing Sam's shoulder.

The heat eased a little, the cold ebbed, Sam stopped rubbing his temples instead offering Dean a smile. “Yeah, here in an hour.”

Alright, this Sam could do.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:**
> 
> \- Nsfw content  
> \- The boys being the boys


	30. Chapter 30

**_  
_**

**_Help me._ **

Screaming.

**_Help me!_ **

All he could hear was screaming.

**_HELP ME!_ **

 

________

 

Something _really_ didn’t want them here.

Or maybe Dean just really didn’t want to be here. Either or, both were probably right but still.

The campsite, refuge, Faux-Woodstock for the creepily-challenged was just that, creepy. Filled with creepy people who were doing a shitty job of acting as though they didn’t know anything. Someone had to know something, Dean figured, after his third go around the place that was feeling smaller and smaller with every walk through cut off by some invisible force that Dean could press his hand against like a wall, a tough line of trees that did much the same thing and then of course the town, open, not cut off in the slightest but there and pressing and something _other_ regardless.

It seemed the only place they could go from here was into the very place everyone else seemed to be trying to escape from.

"In town, something’s going on in town," was the grudgingly-given reply Dean got from everyone who answered any of his questions. There were few people out, and even fewer would will talk to him.

A fog had rolled in while Dean was doing his rounds, trying to see how far the perimeter extended, the fog that put him on edge, curled around his ankles like a caress and made it hard to see anything outside the barrier either. Even the road they had travelled in on, the area they’d dumped their car was now completely coated in the foggy mist, practically impenetrable.

Yet still it was hot, sweat inducingly hot. Dean huffed out a breath that was a dragon’s smoke curl of air. Jacket and flannel tied around his waist, pits sweaty in the most uncomfortable and least appealing of ways. Dean ran another lap around the perimeter, barely focusing on putting one foot after the other, after the other.

The sound of a baby crying ripped him out of his stupor. An ear-splitting yell that had Dean scrubbing a hand over his face, rubbing over his ears then searching for a source.

She was there on the back of another abandoned pick up, sitting high on the trailer step, a screaming kid in her arms. The kid couldn’t have been older than ten or eleven, Dean guessed walking over, and she looked just as withdrawn and out of focus as the rest of the inhabitants here, aside from the couple of knee bounces she’d give to the kid in her arms.

It wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar picture. Dean had been four years old when Sam was about that babies age, bit younger than this girl, but still. Kids holding kids, the image and connotation hit a nerve.

Dean approached slowly, made sure to crouch down in front of the pair instead of getting up on the truck beside the girl. “Hey, Hey, uh, sweetie?”

Spooked like an animal the girl tensed up, burying the bottom half of her face in the thick, heavy jacket she wore. She clutched the crying kid tighter and looked every inch terrified by Dean in front of her.

She was also the most animated Dean had seen of anyone here.

He extended two palms, shuffled back a little but kept eyes with the girl, not wanting to talk down to her. “Hey, no, no it’s okay, you’re okay.” He spoke, quietly, gentle. “Just wanted to chat with you a sec, say hello.”

The girl, still tensed, still flighty, the whites of her eyes veined red and painful looking. As though she had been crying and scrubbing them often. She looked at him, saying nothing but not outright running away.

Cautiously curious.

Dean offered her what he hoped was a gentle, trusting smile, and inclined his chin to the kid. “He’s having a rough go of it hey?”

The girl spoke: “She.”

She sounded normal at least, not drawn out or distanced. Dean watched her expression scrunch up like a crumpled paper ball when the kid in her arms started hollering anew, tiny little lungs working so hard to be heard.

“She, right.” It was hard to talk over the crying while still being soft, but Dean managed it, scooting a little closer. “Your sister?”

“No.”

Dean’s chest thumped a little. Abandoned baby, random kid. Out on their own, no discerning parents around or adults.

“I’m Dean, Dean Winchester.” Dean said. He had to work a little to get up off the ground. His back protested and his right knee popped. He sat on the opposite end of the tailgate, not invading the girls space, just trying not to ruin his joints and bones thirty years before what was normal. “You got a name?”

“Amy.”

“Amy, pretty name.” Dean couldn’t quite tell from just looking at her profile but he thought, for a moment, Amy smiled.

The kid in her arms was doing the opposite, screaming her little lungs out, struggling and lashing out hard against the hold Amy had her in, and the thick blanket. Poor kid was probably boiling, Dean thought, but then, everyone else, Cas, Sam now, hell all these rugged-up people, looked just about ready for a trip out to the arctic with the way they were dressing.

The babies throat cracked, a dry painful sounding wail. Dean shuffled a little closer and untuck a bit of the blanket from around her, careful to move slow, exaggeratedly, he untucked enough of the blanket from around the kid so he could feel her skin.

Burning hot.

“Where’s her family?” He asked, mind running through steps.

Amy shrugged, blinked a little slowly. “People ‘round here don’t like babies that aren’t theirs.”

“Yeah, don’t seem like the compassionate bunch.” Dean said. “Can I hold her?”

A moment. Dean could see the indecision flash over Amy’s face. She drew up further into herself, but then, when the kid started coughing in turn with her wails, Amy’s expression broke open, she sniffed and passed her over, her own voice high and trembled, in time with the water building up in her eyes.

“She won’t eat, she won’t sleep, she just keeps crying, crying, there—there was blood.”

Dean would never get over just how tiny babies were, small, tubby little Buddha’s. Tiny little people, tiny little things just whole and compact and completely soft. Anyone looking at a baby could see how fragile they were, a bundle of softness that invited you to touch.

He took her from Amy, held the kid against him and felt her melt and mould, still crying, but his one hand all but covered her tiny body as he stroked a finger over her brow, sweaty, hot, right fever or something more linked to this place. Dean scaled back through the, admittedly, limited info he knew about babies off hand. He hushed the kid and bounced her a little in his arms. “Hey, hey, now it’s okay.”

Flushed, screaming, the kid was having an awful time. “You’re okay, you’re okay.” Shit.

He needed to do something.

Looking across at Amy, Dean asked. “You alright? You got any parent’s around?”

Amy stared at him blankly, with far more exhaustion that a ten-eleven-twelve-something year old should have.

“Right, stupid question. Gotcha.” He got up off the back of the trailer bed, shushed the kid in his arms a little then looked to Amy. “Come on, I’ve got someone who can help.”

They were ignored on their way back to the hotel room. Everybody stuck doing their own thing, staring off into the distance or at the ground. Those who were enough of themselves to glance at them crossing the road and the faux-parking lot did so surreptitiously.

Dean didn’t knock on the door as he entered, stepping ahead of Amy with the crying kid in his arms. He shut the door behind him, then passed the baby down to Amy as Cas, in all his furry, ‘wolfyness’ was asleep on the bed, dreaming.

Whimpering.

“Cas?” Dean came forward, sat on the edge of the bed. “Baby? You okay?”

It happened too fast for Dean to truly react to.

Cas jolted awake, snarling and growling. Dean saw a flash of teeth, heard a nasty bark and scrambled back off the bed.

Cas’ ears were pointed like a cat’s, tufted and fluffy. His mane was its usual stark white, like the rest of him, but Dean could see it now; more painfully and more acutely than before, the transformed and abused skin beneath. In the dimming light of the hotel room Cas moved so fast each limb was indiscernible from the other.  He arched forward, stopped, snarled, Behind Dean, Amy screamed.

Cas’ corded body and white fur moved all together as he turned his head this way and that, mouth and dark lips glistening with spit as he bared his teeth to Dean, _Dean_.

Amy was pressed back against the closed door behind her, baby in her arms, Dean was between them while Cas was there, crouched to attack and snarling, like some kind of wild and trapped animal.

Dean, lifted himself a little off the floor, raised one hand trying to calm Cas. Cas’ head wouldn’t stay in one place long enough for him to make eye contact, he was a coiled, wild spring, snarling, the picture of terror in every fairy tale.

“Cas?” Dean tried, putting a little force behind his words. “Hey now, hey, you’re alright. It’s just me.”

He used the bed to get up, looking at Cas trying to catch his eye, one hand extended out between them.

Amy’s whimpering and the kid’s crying only seemed to agitate Cas further. His muzzle contorted as he pulled his lips back in a snarl, tongue a bloody pink. His powerful teeth were on full display.

“Hey.” Dean clicked his fingers and Cas’ attention darted to him.

Cas snapped at the air between them and Dean’s instinct was to draw away, pull his hand back but something kept it there. He shuffled closer, trying hard to hold Cas’s eye enough, break through to him enough to soothe him.

Cas looked like he wanted to bolt and Dean couldn’t friggen blame him, he was trapped in a room, something had shaken him up in his dream enough that he’d lost himself now, in instinct and response and fear.

Dean’s heart broke to look at him.

“Cas? Hey Cas you—you’re okay. Snap out of it huh? Hey, you with me?”

Dean edged forward, but he must have been too fast, gotten too close. The sound that ripped out of Cas was half a snarl, half a whine. Cas snapped his fast jaws, bolted forward, his teeth clamping down and sinking into Dean’s forearm.

 

___________

 

“—Ya idgit… _BEEP.”_

The last voicemail Sam was able to drag up was absolutely no help at all.

For the sixth or seventh time in almost a whole hour Sam drummed up Bobby’s number and tried to get through.

 _“_ Bobby hey, are you getting these?” Sam said into the speaker. He paced around the side of the hotel, thumb sinking into his pocket, fingers skirting down across his upper thigh. He switched it up on the next ring, folding one arm over his chest. “Look we’re, we’re about a mile out of Grass Lake Charter, the township, uh, Michigan, anyway look. Something’s really weird alright?”

Sam relayed what he could in _another_ message though by this point he was mostly doing so out of abject helplessness rather than anything truly productive.

God, it was getting cold. A thick mist had started up probably about an hour back, two? Sam couldn’t remember exactly. Maybe it had always been there, he was finding it difficult to remember what warmth was after all, already his collar was popped around his neck to stave off what little chill it could. Something niggled in the back of his mind, something asking him to _remember_ but he shrugged it off, kicked at the fog around his feet and started up his pacing again in the other direction.

Half an hour ago, or had it been an hour…Sam had fired off some texts to Eileen, he opened that up now, worked a few more texts out with aching, freezing fingers.  


**_…sending (15) messages…_ **

_Eileen, get Bobby to call me_

_Eileen, grab the gear and meet me outside  
Grass Lake Charter, Michigan _

_I think something’s wrong_

_Are you getting these?_

_Is it possible for another realm, spirit realm  
whatever to leak into our own? _

_Something’s wrong with Cas_

_I think something’s wrong with Dean_

_These people, it’s like there’s something  
wrong with them _

_There’s something wrong with m-_

_Can realities mingle like that?_

I love you  


Sam jerked and almost dropped his phone when he heard a young girl screaming.

He bolted for the hotel room after only a second of indecision. Bursting into the room Sam was met with a wailing child, and a terrified eleven-year-old pressed up in the corner and screaming. Dean was on the floor, a wolf—Cas on top of him, biting down. Dean’s arm was red, bloody, _open—_

Sam pulled out the gun he grabbed from the car. “HEY!”

“No, Sam!” Dean thrust his other hand up in the air between them, before sinking it back down into the haggard fur around Castiel’s neck. His voice was thin with pain, his face even paler. There was a damn wolf chomped down on his arm and yet Sam’s big brother was sprawled there, speaking in hushed tones, trying to calm it—him.

“Hey, you’re okay, you’re okay.” Dean said while dribbles of blood wound down his wrist.

Sam’s fingers flexed around the gun. “Dean—”

“Sammy, can you—”

“Dean, seriously—”

“I’m fine, Sammy, Sam. Just,” Cas’ growl around Dean’s arm cut him off. Dean breathed out a shuddering puff of air, turned back to him and smiled, thin lipped and painfully. “See Cas, everything’s all good. We’re okay.” He reached with his free hand and patted him gently. “You’re okay. You recognize me yeah? Take a moment.”

Cas’ snarling slowed, a sound that thrummed through Sam’s stomach. Now a threatening purl, jaw still clamped tight, he moved a little, lowered his body, dragging Dean’s arm with him until they were both on the floor. A brutal and grotesque picture of peace, posed such that it was almost mesmerizing.

Cas made a soft ‘wuff’ sound in his throat, the rumble bubbling up over his husband’s bloody arm.

Sam couldn’t do anything he could, shoot, he could shoot _Cas_ but then, then what, he’d have shot _Cas_.

_D-Dean?_

That voice like tires on gravel, the edges of it burnt dark with pain and confusion. Cas blinked, looking vulnerable and small in the run-down hotel room, eyes huge in his pale, furred face. And Sam saw in those eyes something that ripped at his chest: Cas’ own recognition, his shame.

Slowly, he released Dean’s arm and dropped on all fours to the floor.

Sam knew he would have grabbed his own arm to stem the bleeding, would have cried out, swore, done something, showed some semblance of justifiable pain, Dean’s injury now ugly and welting and painful, a true flesh-deep bite, but Dean just shifted a little, drew his arm close to his chest, looked at Cas and smiled, reassuring, but stopped petting him to cup his own arm and press down hard on the bite.

Sam didn’t know how it could be that the face of a wolf looked agonized with horror.

“H-hey baby,” Dean said if perhaps a little thinly, that was all the warning Sam needed to throw himself forward and drop down to his knees, one hand coming up around Dean’s shoulder keeping him steady, the other lifting to Dean’s arm to inspect the bleeding.

“Wow,” Dean laughed as though drunk. “Head spin.”

Shocked, on the floor, Cas stared at the two of them, white muzzle splashed with red, black lips parted. _I—_

The motel door burst open from behind them. The child in the corner screamed again, the kid in her arms bawling. Dean jerked in Sam’s arms and threw his head back to look. Cas leapt to his feet, his lips drawn back in rage, fur standing on end.

Beth stood in the doorway, shotgun hoisted up high, aiming right at Cas.

When she shot, the first time, Castiel doesn’t go down but his flesh was torn by twenty different pellets. Sam threw himself on top of Dean, crushing his brother to the floor. Cas pounced shoving Beth out of the room but was then swept aside, in a chorus of growling and snarling and the sound of a second shot, a third.

Sam didn’t even think, he shoved Dean hard into the motel carpet, arched up on his feet, sprung out of the door and swung out his fists. One connected sharply with Beth’s face, the over curled over the barrel of her gun and wrenched it from her arms.

Anger drove him, his own anger, something else’s he wasn’t sure and he didn’t care.

Sam got a flashing look at her eyes, vacant, black, at the dark protruding veins running train tracks up her neck, thick and clogged with black emotion. He didn’t think, spiraling another fist out at the woman, sending her sprawling on the ground. She crumpled to the earth, down the small porch of front stairs and lay there on the ground as blood ran from her temple.

“CAS!”

Sam turned on the noise behind him with whip-like speed.

Dean stumbled out of the motel room, bloody arm clutched to his chest. Sam watched and in an instant a soft glow emanated from Dean’s palm against his own torn skin and then after, Dean drew his hand back and Cas’ bite was no longer there.

There was a rattling all around them, in the trees in the earth. Sam stood on shaking ground, watched Dean dart forward and past him to where Cas’ body had been flung.

The eleven-year-old stepped out of the hotel room, no baby in her arms, face downturned, body stiff.

“Cas, Cas. Sam get over here.”

Dean was kneeling in the growing mist that was now up around his waist. “SAM!”

Sam couldn’t breathe.

Above the sky was a deep maroon. Gold burst out over the tops of the trees leading into town, the clouds were black and sinking down, down like raining ash. Sam fell to his knees beside Dean, stared at the blood stained by smooth skinned expanse of his fore arm.

“Shit she got him Sam, she got him.”

Yeah, she did. Sam was frozen, wanting to dive forwards and help, powerless to do anything.

Cas was writhing, four legs twitching. His body jerked roughly as a thick, blood like ichor emanated from the torn flesh of his face and chest. His eyes were wide open, mostly white and terrified, his teeth bared themselves, and a horrible, pained sound was ripping out of what remained of his mangled throat.

The fog sank into Sam’s jeans, wetting his skin through the thin layer of his shirt. Mist all around him, mist, mist unnatural, inhuman. Castiel’s chest burst open at the same time as a growing crowd began to surround them, every man, woman, child, Nathan, Tyler, the now standing Beth circled around them in a mockery of a sermon.

Flowers and plants bloomed and died from within Castiel’s chest, vibrant greens bursting out, booming, shining, beautiful stunning, to a second later withering and dying where they grew, sinking back down into the open cavities of Castiel’s body.

Across from them, thick tendrils of moss and plant life burst out of an old vans exhaust, its gas tank exploded with colourful flowers that withered when they touched air. Its headlights shattered outward as snake like vines as thick as Sam’s wrist spiraled and spilled out.

The motels windows burst outward two, as thick knobbling branches twisting on out from the wooded walls, destroying what was human, what was man made, and distorting it into raw, base materials.

Cas let out a sound like a cry as the bones in his body visibly crumbled.

Sam remembered then, faintly, that it had been hard for Castiel to hold a conscious form while in the spirit realm. Gods didn’t die from bullet wounds.

“Dean, step back.”

He heard Cas’ bones crack, saw sinew rip and muscle froth. Staggering back a couple of meters and dragging Dean with him, all at once Sam noticed Cas go limp, like a marionette with cut strings. Then what remained of his fleshy body begun to grow longer. The rattling in the surrounding trees grew, the pulsing sound like buzzing insects persisted, Castiel’s throat somehow produced sound, not wolf, not human, something animalistic and terrifying until a wet _snick_ cut him off.

But Cas’ mouth was still screaming, jaws open, eyes staring.

His body elongated, paws forming hands, claws, tentacles with awful cracking, snapping and stretching. His body warped and twisted until he was as fluid as water, as transparent as glass, the fur and thick wolf skin flaking away.

Sam had seen Castiel’s transformations, and they were usually effortless, but this...this looked like torture and birth, and a gruesome death all at once. He teetered for a moment as though he’d lost his balance on the top rung of a ladder.

The air snapped.

Castiel burst outside of himself in a violent, earthy birth. Chunks of his old body hung from the spiraling end of his antlers, withered flowers, ferns and plants hung off his hide. He grew, six, seven, eight feet tall, a towering stag-like creature of crystal light and thick tendrilled arms.  His skin was covered in marks and burns as though licked by black fire. He was a smaller but no less monstrous, no less colossal version of the thing Sam had seen before. Still immense, still blinding.

Sam felt Dean’s hand clutch at him, felt Dean shaking beside him, looking up, up, up at the towering spirit in front of them.

Dean’s first time really seeing his husband, Sam would have laughed if he didn’t already feel like throwing himself belly down on the ground and crying.

Almost peaceful, almost angelic Castiel stretched his neck out to its full length, lifted the massive crown of his own head to survey the area around him.

Sam watched him notice the surrounding corrupted civilians.

Sam watched several of Castiel’s dozen eyes blink, something hopelessly Cas and then as though it barely cost him a moment’s thought, he lifted one of several arms and around them every single last person dropped like a stone.

“What the fuck?”

Dean, that was Dean’s voice. Sam couldn’t, Sam, incapable of breathing inward, incapable of looking away couldn’t say anything, but yes, what the fuck, that just about covered it.

Unfurled, unencumbered, towering above them, Castiel began walking sedately into Grass Lake Charter. He gently tiptoed over the crumpled human bodies beneath his feet, moving with a fluid sort of animal grace onto the road leading away from the motel and campsite, directly into town.

As he vanished, the earth stopped trembling.

As he vanished Sam remembered how to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings**
> 
> \- (Technically) Main character death  
> \- Blood and a wee bit of gory description


	31. End of Part Two

**_  
_**

 

“What the fuck?” 

Dean sucked in a breath of air and it felt like his first. “What the actual fuck?”

Cas was clear cut, like glass or living crystal, that was the first thing Dean noticed. He had more than a couple sets arms, both branch like and tentacle all in on. A human-ish torso, the back of which was littered with spines, spines like a hedgehog sharp and colored like pale bone. His giant head hung low on his long neck, more animal than anything else of him, weighed down by the thousand or twisting, clockwork gear like antlers, half a dozen arching up out from his head like twiggy trees, the others spreading down around him, twisted like vines.

He was hurt, Dean realised looking at him. Cas was burnt with black, his dozens of eyes not as bright of a blue as Dean imagined Cas to have, though each moving independent, they were sluggish, searching, black-hole dark.

He was heading for town, treading carefully on insect legs through the towns people at his feet. Dean watched, heart hammering as one of Cas’ antlers connected with the above power line.

A spark, a flash, and Cas jumped a little, looked up, three winding arms came up, fingers wriggling as though extra limbs themselves, smoothed over the hot power line and _tore_ at it. Sparks flew, the cables dropped.

Dean couldn’t breathe. Cas was ugly as fucking sin but, god, he was beautiful too. Made of light or something, something so whole an unbelievable Dean’s eyes started to water.

This was Cas, the _real_ Cas. 

“Dean? Dean, you with me? _Dean_?”

Sam was there, looking scared.

“Sammy?” 

Sam’s laugh and smile broke out over his face, a desperate, anxious, totally mixed reaction. “Yeah, thank fu—”

Dean had to take a second.

One…two…three…four…

So, Cas wasn’t dead but had gone all spirit-y, he didn’t want to hurt them just wanted to get to his kin. Yeah okay, still didn’t make being confronted with his fucking best friend and partner dying for a second there any less painful. Any less freaking weird as hell.

Nineteen…twenty…twenty-one…

Dean opened his eyes.

He wasn’t afraid exactly. Cas’ heart was still beating love and devotion and whatever godly power that was keeping Dean breathing inside his chest and well, it was _Cas._ The guy who hated wearing socks, the guy who was able to help Dean claw his way out of the hell in his head half the time, the guy who would never hurt him.

Dean hand enclosed over his healed wrist, he rubbed it gently. Cas would never hurt him intentionally, and he wasn’t going to hurt him now, hurt Sam, even if he was a twelve-foot-tall stag headed weirdo. And really, right, that was what he always looked like? Underneath. Dean just hadn’t been able to see it before.

He could see it now. Why the fuck was that?

Sam pressed hard at the bridge of his nose. He looked clammy, and grey and generally awful. “You okay, you calmer now?”

“It’s amazing how shock, blood loss and your hubby getting shot in the face then kinda exploding, can snap a man outta an anxiety attack.” Dean said, sounding calmer than he felt.

In, out, breathe, he reminded himself, the voice in his head for once, thankfully sounding an awful lot like his dad. Gotta keep calm, gotta do the job. “Grab that gun, we might need it.”

Sam fixed him with a hard look. “You want to follow Cas in there?”

“Do we have any other choice?”

“No,” Sam parried, then sighed.

Yeah, Dean wasn’t too psyched about it either, no point in denying it he hasn’t been psyched since this whole thing started. This niggly, messy, guess-and-throw _bad_ plan of a hunt that he knew was way above his pay grade and that maybe the next step forward would steer him into a ditch and leave him there. This whole thing had been a one-way street to Anxiety-ville, left turn at What the Fuck’s Lane.

"Okay,” Sam began on a heavy exhale. He shivered, Dean watched him shiver and stumble a little as he wiped at his head. “We'll find him. We'll go look after we take five, assess the damage."

Dean said nothing for a long moment, a line appeared between Sam’s brows as Dean walked up to him thoughtfully. Dean looked at him and found himself frowning. He floated a finger up and pointed to Sam’s forehead. “You’re bleeding.” It came out accusingly.

Sam dabbed fingers to his forehead, hissed then frowned. “I’m fi—”

On instinct Dean reached out and touched him.

It was Cas’ power, magic, strength, whatever that hit Dean first. A wave of heat, overwhelming, powerful. Dean’s whole body thrummed with it, a warmth like a fire, an embrace, the last bite of a pie. Dean reached out and healed Sam, locking eyes with him as he did so, Sam had that sort of child-like expression Dean hadn’t seen on him in almost over twenty years, Dean watched the cut on Sam’s forehead heal just as he felt the invading blackness cold, freezing, painful twist out of Sam and out into his hand.

Sam let out a little sigh, something like relief and Dean stepped back rubbing his hand on his thigh.

Sam straightened up immediately, his eyes lost that fogginess the other infected people had had, he shook his head, floppy hair suddenly drenched with sweat, looked around and then said: “Holy shit it’s so goddamn hot.” Before taking off his jacket, unbuttoning his shirt.

It took everything in Dean not to bark out a laugh. “Fuck, Sammy. God.”

Sam laughed a little, “seriously, how are you doing that?”

“I died, Cas gave a bit of himself to bring me back. Turns out that comes with some bonuses.” Dean tried pretty hard not to read too much into Sam’s expression hearing that. “I’m human man, chill out. Just, I can heal a bit, kinda nice as far as side effects go.”

“Me, I was like them. I was still me though I was there just, everything was so cold.,” Sam looked around them to everyone that was on the ground. He dropped to his knees and pressed soft fingers to Beth’s pulse. “Alive. Alive. God, yeah, okay. But her head, fuck, she’s bleeding.”

“I got it Sammy.” Dean said and crouched down. Gentle he placed his palm over Beth’s temple, slow, steady. She healed slower than Sam, more effected whether by proximity to the sick spirit or time spent so close Dean couldn’t tell. Didn’t care. He healed her and shook off the black from his palm when he was done.  
  
She looked less pale. Younger. Dean got up off his knees as Sam fell back on his ass. “Thank you.”

“S’alright Sammy. I got you.” Dean said and clapped him on the shoulder. Hell, both of them knew Dean would always have Sam’s back, it had been that way since Sammy was a baby. “Shit, the kid.”

Sam didn’t follow Dean back into the hotel room. Dean didn’t really expect him too. He jogged inside checking on Amy who was crumpled by the door.

She was okay, breathing, knocked out but okay. Dean headed into the hotel room and found the baby on the floor in the corner.

“Shit, shit.” Dropping to his knees Dean scooped her up gently. She was okay too, she was fine. Dean’s chest lifted a little, no longer the caved in mess of anxiety and worry. He could do this, he could focus his attention in on someone else, just enough to do something for her.

Dean pressed his hand a little to her chest, didn’t breathe while he waited for the rise and fall, the soft rise and fall, rise and—

There, got it. Slow, Dean carried her up over to the bed, wedged her in between some pillows and tucked her in. He went back for Amy, scooping her up and doing the same putting her in the bed alongside the baby. There wasn’t anything more he could do, fuck, not for the first time Dean was glad he didn’t have kids of his own. How freaking stressful was it to have such small lives depending on you.

“I’ll come back for you guys okay?” Dean said and patted the bed off the side of the two girls. “Just, hold tight.”

When Dean got back outside it looked as though Sam had been doing the rounds.

“They’re all alive, just unconscious.” Sam grimaced a bit and shifted his newly acquired shotgun over his shoulder, while holding out another pistol for Dean to take. “Think it’s best they all stay that way while we deal with this.”

Dean nodded, yeah, they had to catch up to Cas. He took the pistol and slapped Sam on the shoulder on the way past. “Let’s move.”

Sam smiled, an almost wolfish, predatory thing and caught up to match him step for step.

 

_________

 

There was no police department, at least not any more.

No school, or town hall, post office, fire station, shops or library of any kind lining the main street or the back roads. All the buildings were something out of a TV apocalypse, run down, boarded up, shattered glass sprayed out all over the sidewalk. Like a going to an empty fair ground in winter.

Yet, noticing the dilapidated, broken-down of all the architecture came second to noticing the jungle that was bursting out of the cracks in the pavement, the potholes in the road, wooden walls and park benches were now eight feet tall twisted trunks with metal bolts and frames like awkward growths protruding out. A torn up, nightmare jungle straight out of Edgar Rice Burroughs.

Even just a couple of steps inside the perimeter of the town, Dean was suddenly inundated with a primordial, overgrown, untouched forest thick than anything they had back home, thicker than Cas’ own neck of the woods, but filled with that same sort of shivery feeling. The change had been abrupt, like being thrown into a bath of cold water.

Purple-grey and Green-teal coloured trees soared up to meet each other one hundred feet or so above their heads, entwining, dripping chunks of curly moss and vines as thick as Dean’s wrists. There was a light fog over everything, vapour rising up, chilling the cuff of Dean’s jeans and unlike outside of the town here the temperature actually suited the environment. The heat of outside, and the infecting cold replaced by something more tepid, humid. Everything let loose this ancient, decaying smell, as though the soil beneath their feet and the plant life all around them were something long-dead and rotten.

Dean and Sam walked into town on foot, hurrying from under the shade of one tree, to the twisted wall of what was once a man-made building. There were no doorways to sink into, no real cover out on the main road outside of the canopy stretching out above. 

“We’re not in Kansas anymore are we?” Dean murmured. Again, he asked: “Where the fuck—”

“Grass Lake Charter, but I’m guessing not just Grass Lake Charter.” Sam said, keeping a steady hold of the shotgun over his shoulder.

Dean threw him a look.

Careful, Sam wandered up to the nearest tree, aged with twists and turns. He paused, didn’t touch the wood, but hovered his palm out over it, a furrowed expression crossing his brow. “I mean, this seems like some sort of nexus of spirit energy, right? Like what Cas talked about, the place where the stone drops and everything,” Sam wriggled his fingers and stepped back to Dean’s side. “—Ripples out.” 

“When I followed Cas into the spirit realm,” Sam continued. “It felt like this, the smog, the air, the energy.” He stopped as though choosing his words carefully. “I think, part of me knew it when the fog rolled in, I think, I mean, I guessed, that this would be similar, a crossing of the two realms, ours, theirs. Something’s happened to make this happen and I think, instead of creating ripples in water, whatever stone dropped here has made a whirlpool.”

“So, we’ve fallen through a hole, a bigger hole. Like a worm hole or something?”

“No, I think,” Sam rubbed his palm over the backs of his knuckles. “The spirit realm Cas and I were in was different, everything was different this is all still human, still a town, I can breathe.”

As they walked Dean followed his brothers gaze to see a clustering of bright ferns, each about the length of his legs. Furred like a small animal, they twitched and swayed as the boy’s passed, actually matching the Winchester’s path as the ferns canted to follow them.

Dean moved a little away from them and listened to Sam.

“This is something between the two, or a mix or I don’t know? Maybe the spirit realm causes weird reactions with our own when they get into contact. You remember the fires Dean? The one we caught Coburg?”

“This is the opposite of a fire though,” said Dean gesturing around.  
  
“This is also, I think, ground zero. Nature is unpredictable.”

No lie there, and the silence too, thick and palpable, felt wild. Though a part of Dean expected to catch something creeping through the shadows, through the gaps in the trees, with the way the forest sounded, it was as though they were the only ones here.

“That’s comforting.” Dean landed on, feeling as though it was anything but.

Despite all the plant life this was a dying town. Dean could see it in the shells of abandoned houses and store fronts, in the way that some of the plants bursting out of the wood work and the concrete were living, but many others were also dying, the whole road they walked on caught somewhere between the process of living and dead.

Sam was saying:  
  
“We need to figure out a plan. No telling what could be out—”

He cut off as Dean pressed against his chest and pushed Sam back into the shelter of the nearest moss-covered shop. “Wait.”

A moment, a second. Hearing nothing Dean edged around the wall a little, shoulders turned, hands on his gun. He looked and could see a little further down the road the stumbling crowd of people tripping over cracks, shuffling through knee high grass.

Sam curled around the wall beside him, put a hand on Dean’s arm to steady them both. “What are they doing?”

"Just milling about, far as I can see," Dean said, his voice a little louder and more confident now it didn’t seem as though an attack was imminent. "You got bullets in that gun?"

“We’re not shooting them.” Sam said sternly. “Victims here, infected, don’t blame them for this.”

Chastised, Dean nodded. “Yeah, man. People’re…it’s just messed up. Do we try and pass them?”

Being like this Dean felt some of his past training come back, the very training he tried so hard to escape from; stalking monsters in the dark, hunting things. Sam was always more connected to the saving people aspect of that, they killed _because_ they saved. They saved _because_ they killed.

Dean could remember John dragging them out of the bunker when Dean was twelve years old, taking him and an eight-year-old Sam halfway across the state to a Hunter’s botched up hunt. A Rugaru, Dean remembered, who’d lasted so long that he had a wife, a kid, a family. Had been practically human until such a time he couldn’t pretend anymore.

“What do you think he’s going to do?” Sam had asked. They were sitting in the back of the impala, as much as a home as the bunker on those long Letters consultations across America.

The Rugaru, the man, had had a name but Dean couldn’t remember now.

Dean had been fiddling with the controls of the Impala’s old radio. “What he has to, Sammy.”

“But what?”

“The job okay? Dad’s gonna tell Bill to do his job, how to do his job and then we’ll go home.”

“Is Bill gonna kill him?” Sam had asked, his voice so small, so soft for just that moment that Dean had taken pity on him. He’s moved into the back seat, wrapped an arm around Sam’s shoulder and squeezed him tight.

“Hunter’s, Men of Letter’s, we help people, right Sammy?” Dean said eventually. “An’ helping doesn’t always mean killing monsters.”

Sam had been so disappointed learning that on the way home, they had killed that Rugaru, that guy, and their dad in the front seat had been the one to pull the trigger.

He stopped wanting to be a hunter entirely after that for a while, focusing in on the bunker, his studies, on being a Man of Letters.

Now, Sam was a better Hunter, a better Man of Letter’s than their dad had ever been, than Dean had ever been. He was so sure, so confident so calm, even now in the middle of an otherworldly shit storm. Dean’s heart clenched tight and warm in his chest. He was so proud of his baby brother.

He was going to make up for the years lost between them.

“Guess they’re as clueless as we are, the Stumbling Dead.” Dean said as the mass of infected people began wandering away. Shuffling together like a herd of sheep, more peaceful or at least more out of it than any of the other infected people they’d come across before.

“We’ll head around back, Cas was heading north and I guess,” Sam looked off into the foggy middle distance, seemingly denser with mist and trees, “we head north too. Catch up to him.”

The uncertain, _I guess,_ hung in the air between them.

They’d barely worked their way out of the edge of town before it became clear that that wasn’t going to happen. They saw the abandoned diggers, crane, construction equipment and abandoned site before they could see Cas.

From there, quite abruptly, the primordial pop-up forest stopped.

It was just dirt, logging machinery and what normal, earthly trees that had already been cut and logged.

“Oh.” Dean said, looking at the mess. Looking at it the way Cas would have, the way any forest spirit, or God would. A graveyard. A tragedy.

“Oh.”

Sam passed Dean stepping forward. He climbed up over one of the nearest logs looking out at the ripped branches and chopped trunks in sort of an incoherent, numb silence.

“Is this—”

“Yeah.” Dean said quietly, answering Sam’s unasked question. If there was one way to anger a forest god enough to get them to rise and start polluting everything within radius with their rage it was this.

“Jesus.”

As Sam headed over to one of the abandoned cranes, Dean looked out across the ruined, dead clearing and—a flash of movement, Dean wasn’t the only one who noticed. Sam backed off from the rusting metal and watched as Cas stepped out of the nearby trees, stopped on the edge of the clearing, a large, swaying, burnt thing.

Undulating, as though more of a liquid than a solid and more gracefully than an eight-foot-tall humanoid thing should have, Cas stretched his neck down and sniffed at the closest, severed log. Soft, velvety nose, dragging through the still warm sap.

Dean jumped and slipped over a neighbouring tree trunk. Almost twisting his ankle as he scrambled and climbed trying to get to Cas’ side. “Cas!”

Cas lifted his head, a few dozen or so blue eyes blinked in synchronicity.

“Cas!”

“ _Dean!_ ” Sam yelled out.

The fist came from nowhere.

**LEAVE!**

The punch hurt, knocking Dean off the log he was scaling. Dean had just about three seconds to catch himself as a large, baldheaded man lunged from the right, and swung at Dean with what looked like a section of lead piping. There was an audible  _thunk_  as metal met human skull, and Dean hit the ground.

A dribble of warmth slipped down his temple, curled over his cheek, following the line of his jaw. A blast of pain smacked Dean hard in the head, a shadow crossed over the sun as a voice, deep and sonorous and in his head and _not at all Cas_ kept screaming.

**LEAVE! LEAVE! LEAVE! LEAVE! LEAVE! LEAVE! LEAVE! LEAVE! LEAVE! LEAVE! LEAVE! LEAVE!**

Dean rolled over onto his side and kicked out his legs, _thunk_ , lead hitting wood as the piping was dropped and the guy slipped up. _Thunk_ the sound of his face smashing into a tree trunk. 

Dean’s vision swum as he tried to get back up. There were hands now and fists and bodies holding him down, dragging him up, black veiny hands and people all over him.

Dean heard Sam roar and felt the hands ripped from him, the bodies crushing him into the earth, crushing him into the dead wood. There was half a second of angry shouting and movement. The world tipped sideways.

Dean stumbled toward Cas, blood like music in his ears. He glanced up and saw something spreading out above them, falling down, not a cloud, not smoke, not fog this time but more of a painful bruise. It wasn’t right, Dean knew, it was anger and hurt haemorrhaging beneath the skin of the world, leaking through from somewhere, and he had a fucking bad, no horrified feeling in the pit of his chest and the side of his head.

Someone gunned for Dean’s legs but he leapt, crashed, kicked out. Connecting hard with flesh, tossing aside the hands that were trying to grab him.

Cas was a shard of burn glass, buried now in the centre of the clearing because the ground around him now was shimmery, like looking out to the middle distance on a burning day. The ground and trees and solidness under him was bubbling, Dean could feel the ripples.

 "Cas," Dean heard himself yelp out, high-pitched and terrified. He gasped when hands grabbed at his ankles. He yelled and kicked them off, scrambling to his feet, brain throbbing. “CAS-T-EL!”

The towns people were ignoring Cas, gunning for Dean and Sam. Dean near-dodged a bum rush from a sixty-something year old, skated out of the arms of black veined children as he tried to break free.

Eyes on Cas, Dean threw all of himself out there, to Cas.

 _Come on, Cas._   _Come on—_

Cas looked up, still kneeling on the ground, he looked right at Dean, face and all of his eyes zeroed in with that familiar Cas intensity. His huge mouth opened a little, just a breath. 

_Dean?_

Then the ground opened up from beneath him.

The change rolled over Cas like a tide: light dawned under his crystal skin, lit up the blackened marks riddling his body. For one long breath, the townspeople froze, watched and Dean broke free, he could feel Sam scrambling behind him, hear the muffled sound of his voice but fuck his head was killing him.

When Cas started sinking into the ground white hot fire burst in Dean’s chest.

“Dean!” Sam’s arms wrapped tight around him, holding him close, keeping him up.

“What—”

But no one had any time to answer. Not when the ground was cracking and shaking and Cas was _gone_ and the townspeople were moving again the infected fuckers.

Dean has just enough time to see the fuckers coming for him and to feel a brief bit of panic before he was hurtling feet first towards where Cas had been and dragging Sam with him.

His head ached thanks to the blow from his unseen attacker, but not in a way that screamed a serious concussion, so that wasn’t Dean’s priority right now. He knew intellectually, that Cas would be fine, he was a god, but still— “C’mon, Sammy!”

“Dean what are you—”

Dean felt it in the last few steps he took to get to where Cas has sunk. He could feel it, Cas’ Heart buzzing under his skin, a sensation that thrummed in the air around them at once powerful and delicate and his and so much more. And Sam could feel it too, Dean knew, because Sam was staring at him, hand on his arm, expression slack.

Blood dripped onto Deans lashes, he blinked and his eye stung. He took a deep breath, keep breathing, he told himself. Ignoring the god screaming at him to **LEAVEGOAWAYLEAVE**

Sometimes you have to make shitty choices, but in the end, you still have to choose.

And Dean would choose Cas, choose family. Always.

Wrapping as much of himself around his brother as he could, Dean threw the both of them off of the trunk, into the light and into the open hole out of their world.

  

**~End of Part Two~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings**
> 
> \- Dramatic! Drama! Untactful exposition!  
> \- Cliffhangers (These cliff hangers keep happening I am sorry aha but look! Not many chapters left now!)
> 
> Thanks for sticking with it, let me know what you think!


	32. Part Three

**_  
_**

**Part Three**

 

 **This is the way the world ends**  
**This is the way the world ends**  
**This is the way the world ends**  
**Not with a bang, but a whimper.**

 

 

**2005, Earthly Realm**

 

It was not often that humans found themselves so deep in Castiel’s forest. 

The people of Stowe knew better. Had been brought up on the stories of the king stag in the woods, the waking spirit, the restless god.

Castiel could hear, some ways off, the people of Stowe closing their shops for the night, speaking in low voices, settling in their homes. Castiel hoped, as he always did, that their living wouldn’t bring them any closer, that they would stay away and live on the land Castiel had allowed them.

The human dying at Castiel’s feet was a stranger here. He did not know the way of things.

Castiel padded over to him, knowing that humans didn’t get many moments like this in their lives; moments where they learned, moments where they knew, without a doubt that they were alive, that they were dying. Where they could feel the air in their lungs and the dirt beneath them and the cotton on their skin; moments, completely in the present.

Life was at its brightest potency when it was being taken away.

Castiel himself had never seen a human soul quite as closely as this before. 

The humans Castiel had interacted with over the centuries were few and far between and mostly in moments of necessity, rarely anything more…coincidental. Their souls were often overshadowed, their cities and towns cast too much light into the night, but here, within Castiel’s place, this human’s soul was laid out like a star, bright against the forest floor.

The autumn evening turned into a deep and nearly night as Castiel stood over the two bodies before him, one fading fast, the other drowning in his own blood. Castiel could smell a distant winter on the air, foggy mist and a crisp darkness offsetting the tang of fallen leaves. Night air stirred against the leaves of the trees in one long sigh.

The first of the two bodies, a female, a human transformed had a request. Castiel touched her and understood. He bent down then, and anointed the twisted, torn girl at his feet. But she did not respond. He did not expect her to, her prayer had been answered.

She wasn’t in pain any more.

The second human stared up at Castiel with eyes that only held pain.

Castiel bent low to inspect him, his muzzle running along the human’s cheek, his jaw, his lips.

 _A life for a life, human,_ Castiel asked, more for the sake of himself rather than searching for an answer. _Why should I restore yours with the death of hers?_

_The human did not have the strength to answer._

As he healed him, Castiel began to know him. He could taste the human’s skin, his salt, his blood, his tears along his tongue as he moved across the human’s face, his lips, down to the swell of his neck, breathing in life, warming chilled skin. The human’s soul fluttered beneath Castiel’s ministrations, that ebbing light of a winter’s sunset. Gold and yellow and pink in waning fluorescence.

Dean Winchester. Castiel said and withdrew. The human by his feet, Dean, shuddered a gurgling, painful noise in the back of his torn throat. Castiel raised his head, and wandered past Dean to the young girl’s side.

It would be incredibly easy to decline the girls final request. Why should he resurrect one of this realms’ most dangerous and destructive creatures? When the gods, first, planted trees it was the humans that tore them up. And the forests, world over, had yet to recover.

Castiel scolded himself briefly for such narrow thinking. The concept of portrayed evil, of right and wrong was more human in thought than Castiel felt comfortable with. Dualities, binaries like that were rotten, flawed, the idea that when something happened someone could be blamed and then punished for it was hopeless.

Humans also planted trees sometimes, not this human specifically but there was potential.

Castiel could use Dean.

Odd.

The thought was like the wind, or a song.

It came into being, resonated and then faded away.

Very odd.

Yet, here Castiel stood, still tempted to hear more of Dean Winchester’s song.

Though Castiel had never done so before, there were ways to bring a life back from death, from the ether, to knit a soul to a particular body. An anchor was needed, a life for a life and more so.

One had to have a Heart.

But the boy might break it, or waste it, or lose it. Castiel knew little personally of humans but he knew how poorly they cared for the hearts they were given. How readily discarded such gifts were, how little value was placed on life in general.

What would it mean for Castiel, for them, for Dean Winchester, to rise and live his life with a sliver of a God inside him?

Castiel didn’t know, and the idea of not knowing, for someone as old as he was…

He felt _curious_.

Castiel stared upward into the dark sky and watched, with eyes unclouded, the slow dance of the stars above.

**_  
_**

 

**2010, Stowe, Vermont**

 

“Alcohol has changed a lot throughout the centuries,” Cas announced to the table, probably louder than he meant to. “It's... decidedly unpleasant now.”

Dean laughed first, probably the only one comfortable enough to laugh in the face of the towns resident Holy Ghost. Spirit, God, Cas wasn’t too attached to labels. And that was what Dean liked about him, that and Cas could make him laugh, make him giggle a bit like a school kid in a small, mountain town bar at three in the afternoon.

Maybe that last part was a little specific. But screw it, Dean was giggly a little bit tipsy. Sue him, they were celebrating.

“Not everything can be wild fruit wines and mead now, brother.” Benny said, the only indication that he’d been mixing his cows blood with alcohol was the rasping of his voice. That low gurgle like the rumble of thunder in the distance.

If Dean weren’t in a monogamous partnership now, he’d definitely go for that.

He felt Cas shift beside him, Cas’ naked calf meeting Dean’s own beneath the table. On instinct Dean dropped one hand from off the back of his chair and slipped his hand down to Cas’ skirt clad thigh. He patted him once, rubbed small circles in with his fingers, tugging gently at hair where Cas' skirt rode up. Cas wasn’t a shaver and didn’t care who had thoughts about it. It was probably something that had endeared him to Lisa a little the first few times they met while Cas was human, she’d taken one look at Cas and his style and the lack of fucks he gave about human precognitions and her eyes had just glowed.

To be honest, most people felt pretty enamored with Cas once they got to know him.

“I am not your brother—” Cas said and levelled Benny with a steely, albeit alcohol riddled gaze. His voice dropped two octaves and Dean squeezed his thigh, one half a warning, one half in appreciation. “ _Benjamin_.”

Benny raised his hands up, sitting back in his seat in the booth. He smiled.

Dean leant a little forward between them, before both men, creatures, non-human dudes whatever got into some sort of supernatural pissing contest. “Look Cas, babe, you don’t have to drink it.”

“You wanted to go out for a drink, Dean, so, I am out for a drink,” said Cas, his voice an inch or so off scolding. He scowled down at the beer in his hand, as though it had personally affronted him. “Clearly, however, taste has been left wanting with human evolution.”

Benny snorted, a gross, dickish sound, the dick. Dean kicked at him from under the table while Benny just smiled, fangs not out, and downed the rest of his drink.

“Gee, thanks man.”

Cas pressed in close to Dean’s side and put down his bottle in favour for sniffing at Dean’s neck.

Benny politely looked away.

“ _Dude_ —”

He was saved from scolding Cas or maybe even scarring Benny by Lisa’s return to the table. “PG-13 love birds,” she said and slid her tray with the next round into the middle of the table. Something must have shown on Dean’s face at the term ‘love birds’, Lisa winced but covered it up with a light laugh. “Sorry, I mean tax-evaders.”

“We’re not evading tax Lis,” Dean said and reached for his next drink.

Cas lifted his nose from Dean’s jaw and nodded. “We are operating within the societal confines thrust upon us. Personally, marriage holds no romantic, necessary or desirable ideal for either of us.” Cas was always better with his words, shutting down assumptions people had about how they worked, about himself, about Dean. “But, a legally binding partnership in the modern age does allow for certain privileges.”  
  
True. Society sucked, people sucked. Dean hated to think back on the time where he woke up in hospital, after that second time his life tried to ditch out on his body. And how at first Cas hadn’t been allowed in his room, how Pamela had to help them, how Cas had to change his damn perceived gender just to be allowed to hear how Dean was doing, just to be let into his room.

Two thousand and nine equality Dean’s asshole.

“Still salty.” Lisa guessed.

Dean pulled heavily from his drink.

Cas sighed. “Incredibly.”

Benny huffed into his drink, watched the pair of them over his glass. “So glad to know Stowe’s first gay married couple cares so much for the sanctity of their own union.”  
  
Dean frowned. “ _Gay_ marriage? Dude—”

“Sorry, non-straight marriage.”

“Your insistence on labels is also utterly vexing.”  Cas said. And Dean wasn’t sure if he was referring to him, Benny, or somehow all humanity at once. Probably the latter.

“Well, here Castiel, we can sort that out a bit.” Lisa offered, still standing by the table as she handed Cas the fanciest, pinkest glass from off her tray. “Try this.”

Cas looked at the cocktail like he did pretty much everything else. “This is?”

“A cocktail, trust me, trust Dean.” Lisa amended, knowing Dean was the only human alive who had any sway over Cas. “Best thing we humans have ever created.”

“After pie.” Dean corrected.  
  
Lisa nodded. “After pie.”

“After Xbox,” said Benny, leaning hard back in his seat. He looked up from the table when everyone’s eyes fell on him. “What? I game.”

Cas ignored them all, picked the dainty glass up in his rough, calloused fingers and pressed it to his lips in a sip.

There was a quiet moment, at least at their booth. Several slow seconds passed until Dean couldn’t take it anymore, he squeezed at Cas’ thigh (under his skirt, huh, how’d he get there, oh well, c'est la vie) and asked a little more hesitantly than intended when Cas put his glass back down. “So?”

Cas blinked. Looked down at his sugar rimmed glass with wide, blues eyes, then bumped the whole table, spilling several drinks as he dived on his own drink and skulled it all in few deep swigs.

Benny laughed out loud, shaking his head as he got up out of his seat and headed back up to the bar. Lisa looked as pleased as Dean had ever seen her, the highs of her cheeks a sweet, cherry pink. “I think he liked it.”

Yeah, Dean gathered that when Cas slammed his glass down and licked his lips like a panting puppy.

“You’re supposed to savour it man.” Dean chastised but only gently.  
  
“D-delicious.” Cas said, ignoring him. He jerked upwards out of his seat, not even bothering to smooth out his skirt as he headed back to the bar. “Benjamin, Benny! Order me another!”

“Sure thing cher.” 

Dean sat in the remnants of Cas’ own personal whirlwind, a little winded, a lot happy. His eyes slid over to Lisa on the opposite side of the table. She was smiling at Cas and Benny at the bar, when she felt him watching she glanced over.

“Good choice.” Dean said and grinned. “Thank you.”  
  
“Consider it your wedding gift.” Lisa said, and smiled in return. They both turned to watch Cas trying to talk Benny into ordering him a couple more cocktails.

It was excessive, it was indulgent. It was Cas experiencing something human and, even after all this time, diving right into it with beautiful abandon.

Hell, Dean thought, there were worse ways to spend his honeymoon.

 

**_  
_**

**2010, Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

 

Sam had Eileen by his side for his first hunt in years.

Ultimately, endlessly, he decided, limping out of the quiet, homely town house and collapsing down onto its front porch-hunting was worse than just sticking to his books in the Bunker.

When he was just sitting in the bunker he wasn't putting people's lives in danger with his own stupid actions. 

“You cannot save everyone Sam.” Eileen’s voice was hoarse, she unscrewed a bottle of water and offered it wordlessly to him. She hadn’t brought the water with her, she must have taken it from inside. “But I love that you try.”

Oh well, none of them would need it now anyway.

That hurt, like an ache in Sam’s chest that wouldn’t go away. He’d tried damn it he’d tried but none of the research, resources and texts in the Bunker, nothing had been able to bring those kids back, bring their mum back. Not when the Baku had already feasted on their unconscious mind, rendering them practically vegetables.

No African dream root could bring them back from that.

“Sam,” Eileen broached carefully when he didn’t take the drink. She touched his arm and squeezed until he looked at her. She shifted some of the hair out of his face, then signed slower than usual; ‘Sometimes the only choices we have are bad, but we still have to choose.’

‘I know.’ Sam signed back. His wrists ached, one was cut and bleeding. That Baku’s tusks…

“You are so strong, Sam.” Eileen said, a little too loud, a little mispronounced. She took his hand in her own and kissed his cracked and bloody knuckles. Her own lip split probably stinging. “But you don’t have to carry the weight of everything on your shoulders. I’m here for you.”

Sam took his hands back and stiffly, a little brokenly signed. ‘I love you.’

This was not a mistake, this was not a blurting out of a confession, this was Sam’s heart swelling so much in his chest just looking at her, sitting here, that if he didn’t tell her he loved her right away he was going to explode.  
  
He reached out very gently and grazed Eileen’s wrist with his fingers, before drawing back and signing more slowly, looking more deeply into her eyes. ‘I love you. I’m sorry, I’m tired, but I love you. I wanted you to know.’

Eileen stared at him then, soft lips parted a little, her whole face split into a tired, but pleased smile. She touched his face gently, then drew back and signed as she said aloud: “I love you too.”

 

**_  
_**

**Here, Now?**

 

Every pore in Sam’s body felt as though they were tweezed. It was as though parts of him, small, tiny parts of him were being ripped away by their roots. In the instant of this feeling, Sam recalled hearing Bobby talk about a hunt he took along the east coast, recalled Bobby’s description of taking a small boat out of the pier armed with an iron rod, a shotgun and a lore book. Sam thought he knew what Bobby had felt like in the moment he had been overturned in his boat and dragged into the water by webbed hands; the confusing moment of disbelief, of panic while the world reoriented itself, that sudden and stark shift of falling into something that was a thousand times larger and more infinite than himself. 

Bobby had been okay of course, had managed to neutralize the attacking mermaid and move the entire colony but still Sam couldn’t help think now that yes, this was what it felt like to drown.

Or, almost drown.

Sam landed with a hard smack onto wet, mossy earth. Actual earth this time, he checked, flexing his fingers, opening his eyes. Ground, not the giant earthy back of a god, no ground and—Sam rolled over, underground. He was underground. A strange grey earth had them completely enclosed within a mossy, root riddled tunnel.

Climbing up onto his knees Sam could see the remains of houses reclaimed by the earth, twisted up and taken over by roots. It looked, oddly natural, markers of man overrun by plant life, taken in by almost purple moss and ferns. It reminded Sam of the photos he had seen of Fukushima online. Nature crawling up from the cracks in concrete.

The bits of houses, cars and being able to breathe the air led Sam to believe that this was not really the spirit realm, at least not the part of it he had been to before, but not really their world either, rather, something stuck halfway between the two.

He got up on his knees and saw Dean rousing beside him.

“Fuck.” Dean said and rubbed at the back of his head. “Shit.”

His hand glowed a bit, passing by the nape of his neck and when it stopped he sat up a bit straighter, the distracted glaze to his eyes gone. 

The roots in the walls twitched towards him.

“You okay Sammy?” Dean asked, but didn’t wait for an answer before he touched him.

Warmth, no aching, no pain, his mind felt a little clearer. Sam blinked as Dean pulled back and, damn, that still was unsettling. 

“Fine.” Sam said, rubbed at his arms, at his thighs to make sure. “Thanks.”  
  
“Yeah, no problem.” Dean got up off the ground and rubbed down his jeans. There was no discernable entry, and therefore exit point above them just earth.

“Very Alice in Wonderland,” said Dean, looking around them. He took in a deep breath, turned around and called out “CA-AS?”

Sam got up on his feet, brushing against some of the nearby ferns.

“CAS-T-IEL?”

“He could have gone one of two ways,” Sam said, looking at either end of the tunnel, both ends turned off around corner he couldn’t see past. “We could split up?”

“Uh-huh, right, that’s not happening, we’re sticking together.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Sam said, the hunter part of him wanted to argue, but the rest of him was glad. They took the right path walking along the mossy path, Dean still calling out as they walked. Every noise he made felt like the shattering of glass, every moment he took a breath between calling, any noise was replaced by a heavy, oppressive silence. 

Sam found it unnerving but not terrifyingly so. This place, this cavern, didn’t have the same kind of cursed feel to it that the town of infected civilians had, it wasn’t getting under his skin in the same way, it was almost, peaceful. Sam might have actually enjoyed the walk, if it weren’t for the niggling sense in his gut, hunter’s instincts, and the worry he had for Cas being amplified only by Dean’s growing panic.

Dean climbed up over a root in their path, as thick and wide as a SVU. On top, he turned back to Sam, extended his arms down. 

Gripped his brother’s arms, Sam allowed himself to be pulled up, looking around as he righted himself.

He saw Cas before Dean did, almost falling off his perch in the process. “Cas!”

Cas was taking shelter beneath a root, crouching on hard-packed earth, swathed in the strange under earth light that cast everything in a blue hue. Where he squatted gave real stature to the cavern they’d found themselves in and the plant life around them. Cas was still nine, ten feet tall, but pressed up against the cavern wall like that made him appear much smaller. From even this far Sam could make out the mottled purple-black bruises, and the patchwork of cruel scratches and cuts that covered his body. Bleeding out of every open wound, was a faint, white light.

A dozen of Cas’ eyes darted their way, pitch-black, bottomless, void of emotion and recognition. It struck Sam then that Cas wasn’t seeing friends, he was seeing a threat, seeing danger.

Sam wished he had something to grab a hold of, a weapon? No, not to use against Cas, but just for his own wellbeing.

Though Sam had seen him first it was Dean who cut through the growing underbrush, tripped up over a twisted root and reached Cas first, approaching without thought or strategy or fear. He held his hands out, palms up.

“Cas?” he called softly.

Seated like a roosting bird, Cas moved at their approach. He stretched out his elongated neck as though coming out of a shell and turned towards them. Dozens of eyes blinked in tandem, burning no longer blue but a deep, bruised black. The whole of him was more swollen, and bruised and infected than before, he looked awful.

He cocked his head and a collection of his eyes stared at Dean’s approach, even when Sam slid down the root and came toward them. Sam stopped a safe distance back, watching the way Castiel’s tendrils, tentacles, whatever they were flicked in a way that suggested agitation. Flight or fight, Sam knew the signs.

Cas’ eyes wobbled like flickering flames and he _shrieked_ as Dean approached him. A high, animal sound, like a bird. This close, the parts of Cas that could be construed as human like, didn’t look very human, too gaunt, too smooth. Like porcelain but objectively featureless.

Unlike Sam, once that tension was broken by Cas’ squawk, Dean barreled forward and shoved himself up against Cas’ side.

“Cas, Jesus, are you okay?” 

Castiel shrieked again, and before Sam could make a move to do anything, one of his long-bipedal like arms encircled Dean’s back and dragged him up into his lap.

“Damn man, you had me so worried. Asshole.” Dean said patting and rubbing at Cas’ arm, at the tentacle, vine like arms that encircled his waist and legs drawing him even closer. 

The worry in Sam’s chest ebbed a little, but still he kept his distance, staying tense

 Dean was talking steadily low, soothing almost. Sam watched him lift a hand up to Cas’ odd, disembodied face as the same time as Cas leant down to meet him. Dean tilted the god’s face left, right, thumb moving carefully over the side as though over Cas’ cheek. For all that Dean was rarely touchy, feely with anyone, he was obviously affectionate here, face as close to Castiel’s, to his floating eyes as it could be, Dean had practically climbed up Castiel’s knotted body to get closer to him.

Cas looked soft and gentle under Dean’s hands, pliant almost.

Not domesticated, but perhaps tamed.

The strange, uncharacteristic quietness of the moment had Sam thinking of Eileen, and his heart clenched painfully in his chest at the thought. God, he wanted to see her, tell her she was the one next time he saw her, fuck they’d been putting this off for far too long, what they meant to each other. Seeing Dean now, with undeniably his best friend, with someone he loved enough and trusted enough to be with like this, made Sam ache with the idea of lost time.

No, he would get out of here. They would solve this, they would all get out of here and Sam was going to introduce Dean and Cas to Eileen and goddamnit he was going to propose.

“Hey Cas,” Sam edged coming closer. He watched Cas’ grip on Dean tighten, felt a hundred eyes fritz and focus on him. “I’m glad we found you.”

Castiel opened his mouth so wide the thing that could be called his face almost split apart. The sound that came out was like metal clashing with metal.

“He’s okay. You’re okay right?” Dean said, arm absently moving with the tentacle that was wrapping its way around him, curling up under his clothes. “We’re all okay.”

“He can understand us, right?” asked Sam. “Cas, you get what we’re saying you just, can’t talk?”

“He’s kinda out of it,” Dean said quietly, as Sam hovered behind him. And sure, yeah Sam could see that, the way Cas was clinging like a kid to Dean, with the way half of his eyes seemed out of light or staring at nothing. He was mumbling, maybe, or at least making deep, almost purring sounds while they sat there. Slurs and small snatches of sound, none of it English or recognisably human.

“The closer we get to this other god the more Cas is, is zoning out. Fuck,” Dean added the last on an exhaled breath, he scrubbed the hand Cas wasn’t twisted all up in to rub at his face. He took a moment, Sam watched him think. After a moment of silence, Dean turned as much as he could in Cas’ possessive hold and gestured to Sam. “We’ve gotta get moving.”

Sam raised both his hands. “No argument here.”

Castiel chirruped like a bird and rose to his four hoofed feet, clay and earth fell from the ceiling as his antlers scrapped against the ceiling. Cas hunched and snarled.  
  
“Hey whoa, Babe!” Dean said being lifted up with him. “Ease up yeah?”

With something like a grunt Castiel relented, placing Dean on the ground by Sam’s side, his slithering fingers unwrapped from around Dean but kept close, trailing on the ground by their feet.

“Okay.” Dean said, and pulled down his shirt, righting himself while Cas already begun walking out ahead, further into the tunnel. Sam watching him and noticed a limp, the way that—though he was inhuman—several parts of his body seemed to be moving stiffly, independent of one another as though broken.

Fuck, Cas really was beaten up.

“Guess we’re going that way.” Dean said, trying for levity. As though such a thing was possible down here, looking at Cas the way he was, hurting.

“Come on.” Sam said, and clapped Dean’s arm. Together, they hurried after Cas, flanking him on either side.

 

_______

  

They must have been walking for hours before they finally found something. Something other than the scenic overgrowth of nature meeting man-made product. Of car hoods and lamp posts covered in ivy and overgrown buildings, scraps of civilization wedged deep on either side of the cavern as though they had been there for years.

Maybe they had, Sam thought looking around. It was hard to tell how much time was passing when their tunnel was just straight walking and the low hue lighting their way remained the same.

Until at least they passed by a rusted digger, broken down, overgrown like the rest. Then another, then another. The ruined shells of machinery lined their path like a graveyard, Cas had to duck and weave between them, extremities drawing up tight around his body as though he didn’t want to touch them.

And then, rather abruptly, the path cleared and they saw the body.

It was a god. Or at least, it had been, once. . Now, it was what appeared almost like a giant grub, with a mossy, rock scaled exoskeleton which in crack and dents and torn sections exuded the same soft light that Cas did.

Embedded deep into the god's side was the metallic bucket of a digger. Large spines like a cracked open rib cage were exposed from the wounded side at an odd angle, dribbled with a slick gold ooze that seeped from beneath it in a massive puddle.

Sam felt his stomach turn as he recognised the golden ichor for what it was. The smell of the air here was sickly sweet, sickly, like compost and dying flowers. Somehow so much worse than the meat-rot or iron rich smells he was used to on regular hunts.

The sound Cas let out at the sight of his kin was undeniably pained. He staggered forward on multiple limbs, collapsed by the other god’s side, splashing blood all over himself. The cavern shook with his whine, his grief. Dozens of tendrils curled up over the god’s corpse, as though, in a very human way, searching for something like a pulse.

Sam jolted when Dean reached for his arm.

“Think I’m gonna be sick.” Dean said, and Sam could see out in his peripheral vision that Dean’s eyes were swollen, bleary, face drawn down in anguish at what they were seeing.

No wonder this creature’s pain had manifested so strongly above; had reverberated so far, been so disastrous and chaotic.

Instead of dropping a stone into water, someone had plunged a knife.

It was only when Cas chirruped again, and the dead god _moved_ that Sam and Dean fell back, Sam only a couple of steps, Dean actually down onto his behind and hands.

All at once, eight, large fire and smoke eyes were staring at Sam and Dean.

“Holy shit.”

“It’s still alive.” Sam said, “Shit, Dean it’s—”

“Fuck, yeah, Sammy. Shit. Shit,” Dean scrambled back up onto his feet. “Cas, be careful!”

Cas whined long and low, but still reached out a single hand to his kin—

The other god thrashed, the cavern shook. The digger shifted with a teeth-grinding screech and sunk deeper as the other god suddenly stilled, eyes flashing red, then orange then gold, tiny limbs beneath is insect like body writhing and twitching as though shocked.

“Cas!” Dean yelled and clambered forward.

Cas remained still, arm outstretched, touching the other thrashing spirit. He stayed there, patient, and as the creature slowed, pain overwhelming. Cas remained there, his eyes flickered and slow, a soft glow began from where he touched the other god.

A glow that faded almost instantly.

Nothing happened.

Cas withdrew his touch, all his limbs curling up under him. What could almost be considered a cough racked through Cas’ body, and one of his several mouths, openings let loose a spurt of golden ichor, god blood. He collapsed beside the other god, limbs twitching, the bruises and marks on his body shifted as though alive.

“Fuck, Cas!” Dean broke forward through the scraps of metal, the craggy earth.

Sam edged forward more cautiously. This other god was injured, all but powerless, He could tell, not yet dead, only dying. Nevertheless, he stopped just short of touching the creature, Dean himself seemed to hold no such reservations, he brushed past the other god and an intense clicking shook through the air. Coming from the god, Sam realized, and now closer, tried to take the spirit in.

Pinned by the machinery like this, it was hard to get an idea for its full size. But undeniable from its eyes the creature was all black smoke and fire, eyes like crimson embers, pincers like gravestones broken and jagged and spiked all over.

Dying. Shit.

Not with a bang, Sam thought brokenly, but with a whimper.

There was fear in Dean's expression when he twisted around from Cas’ side, searching for Sam. Disbelief too, his eyes suddenly too big for his face. He kept touching Cas, petting him from what Sam’s eyes could make out. Soothing Cas through the shocks he was going through as he expelled more golden ichor, flecked with blackness, with filth.

The other god wheezed, deflated some, and more golden blood dribbled from the cracks in its body.

“They’re dying,” Dean said, slow, as though unearthing the words right as he said them, “Fuck, Cas can’t help them, he’s-he’s…”

He’s dying too. They both were.

And with both gods soon dead, Dean and Sam also wouldn’t last long down here.

Wherever here really was.

_No._

Sam could hear someone saying it, over and over, _no no no no,_ but it wasn’t Dean.

 _No_ Castiel spoke, because it was his denial, his devastation shaking the cavern around him. _No no_ and as he cried he was shuffling away, body twisting and shaking as he backed off from the other god, his eyes spat as though flicked with water. Dean crawled after him, reached out to the parts of Cas he could reach.

“Hey, Cas no hey hey, it’s okay, it’s—”

Castiel curled up in on himself a shaking, quiet giant, pressed back up against the wall just as they’d found him.

Dean touched him, spoke gently but nothing broke through.

Sam didn’t realise he’d snuck back against a thick root himself until he was just sitting there. Eventually, Dean came to collapse beside him.All too soon, Sam thought as options, limited, impossible options raced through his head. He steeled himself to ask the question he didn’t want to the question that had been there beneath the surface ever since this whole hunt blew out into impossible, massive proportions.

There was a cold, hard truth to it, a confrontation with no real sugarcoating that made Sam feel ill to think about. "Dean. What are we going to do?”

He watched Dean dip his face into his hands, scrub his fingers up through his hair. Dean sighed, for a long few seconds, his expression shielded. He didn’t answer Sam’s question.

 

______

 

Time was a subjective concept in the deep, quiet belly of the earth.

Sam thought abstractedly that if they ever made it to the surface again, he would feel about as blind as a mole, and the sun would be too bright.

After what could have been hours, days sitting shoulder to shoulder with Sam, legs sprawled out ahead of him, Dean cleared his throat. "Fuck Sammy.”

"Yeah," Sam agreed quietly.

It was fresh in his memory then, sitting on the stoop outside of school, middle school it wasn’t even _his_ middle school but _a_ middle school. Men of Letters, didn’t need mainstream education, or so Sam had been told. Yet there he had been, thirteen, sitting outside a school that wasn’t his, watching Dean step out of the Impala, seventeen, jacket collar up.

Dean had sat down beside him.  They had sat there for a long time, long enough for the street lights to start shining, the car park to empty completely, the school to lock up.

 _It’s the family business Sammy,_ Dean had said, tossing Sam a long look of regret, apology. It lasted all the way to the car, fell on the side of Sam’s face as he opened up the passenger side door, stayed there, periphery, through that long drive back to the Bunker.

Dean had that same look now, older, sadder.

Sam slanted his eyes to the left and watched Dean bite down savagely on his bottom lip. Dean cleared his throat, scrubbed a hand over his mouth.

“Right, we’ve gotta—right okay.” Dean said getting up, voice steadier, slower now. “No-one wants a zombie apocalypse, and dead gods on their rap sheet, right?”

He clapped Sam on the shoulder and drew up. Sam got up on his feet watching Dean head around to the younger spirit. Fire-eyes watched him approach, and they flickered as Sam got up and headed over as well. Dean took the lead, edging closer slowly, as though approaching a sacred animal.

There was the sound of metal creaking, Dean stopped still, hands extended as the god moved and the digger in its side embedded deeper.

“Hey now,” Dean spoke gently, “You’re okay, right? You’re okay, stop moving.”  

There wasn’t any sign of understanding from the God but it didn’t lash out as Dean edged in close. “Just gonna take a look here.”

“Dean,” Sam warned. Closer now, he could see just how deeply the digger scoop was embedded. There was, at least on a normal flesh and bodied being, no way of removing the scoop and having the victim survive, Sam didn’t know much about gods and healing, or even animals and healing but he did know that this was bad.

But still Dean had hope.

“I need you to get up in there, see if we can get this thing out.” Dean said after inspecting the scoop.

“Dean, I don’t think—”

“Just, please Sam.” Dean said, the calm, controlled façade slipping some. “We’ve gotta do something. Can’t have ‘em go out like _this_.”

There was Cas against the wall, struggling, Dean was looking at him like that, this was a job, they had a job to do, Sam could do this. Fuck, they had to do _something._

“Okay. Okay.”  Sam nodded.

Dean turned back to the spirit, speaking in hushed murmurs; “Just a quick minute, only going to hurt for a second,” he almost looked as though he was about to pat the god’s side, but stepped back from that, hand just hovering over them.

“Okay,” Sam said to himself again shutting out Dean, shutting out Cas in the corner. He sucked in a breath. The metal of the digger was mostly rusted and flaky. Red rust peeled off with Sam’s hands as he climbed up into the cab. He scraped some vines and surface moss off with his knuckles, everything seemed, normal, seemed earthly.

But of course, there was no way to turn it on, to do anything.

“It’s dead.” Sam said and found his eyes sliding to the massive gash in the God’s side where the scoop was knifing forward. If there had been way to mobile move the crane. You never pull a knife out of a wound, Sam knows, none of them are surgeons, could a spirit bleed to death? Sam didn’t know.

“Nothing’s working.” He said, and leant out of the cab.

Dean wasn’t really listening. He was looking around the wound. “It’s okay buddy, it’s okay Just buck up alright? We ain’t gonna hurt you.”

A high-pitched trilling sounded. The ground shook. Sam ducked back into the cab when a section of the ceiling caved in. The spirit's eyes burned like hot coal, all of them zeroed in on Dean

“Yeah, you can cry, let it out that’s good.” Sam recognized that tone, he’d heard it, accompanied by every bump and scratch, every broken arm and every scraped knee. It had this weird effect, calming Sam, reminding him to take a breath.

“Cas,” he said, then said a little louder. Thoughts coming, mind working. “Cas, we could use a hand, uh, tentacle thing.”

Dean blinked and clicked onto what Sam was saying. “Cas, yeah? Shit.” He clamored over to Cas’ huddle, touched and climbed up over Cas, till Sam couldn’t fully see him. “Cas, I need you.”

_D-Dean?_

Cas’ voice was like a warble, songlike, sad. Too quiet.

“Yeah, baby. I know it hurts okay, but we need you out here,” said Dean, coming back into view as Cas slowly unfurled, like a flower. Dean was standing there, amidst all of Cas, his hand wound through one on Cas’ arms. His other keeping himself steady. “They need you.”

There was a long moment of silence, of Dean standing upwards against a hundred odd eyes staring him down.

He scrambled, hitting back into the dirt when Cas got up, half crawling, half dragging himself closer to his kin. Sam climbed down from the cab, a little intimidated, a lot relieved as Cas came over, grip sliding over the digger, scaling over corrosive metal.

“This is going to hurt little guy,” Dean told the spirit as Cas seemed to steady himself, grip tightening on the digger. Sam hit the ground by Dean and, while turning around, thought better of it as Cas, holding onto the digger, wrenched with all his strength.

A metallic scream curdled Sam’s blood, burst his ears and shook the earth. Sam jumped as the digger flung through the air and ricocheted with the wall. He grabbed for Dean, Dean grabbed for him, they both stumbled back.

In the wake of the pull the spirit bled - albeit sluggishly. What little ichor it had left dribbling out and joining the pool on the ground.  ,

“Okay,” Sam said, catching his breath. He broke apart from Dean, stepped forward. There was a question there in his words, a resounding ‘what now’ he could feel stir unpleasantly in his gut. “We, we just did that.”

Cas was a lump on the ground, a twitching, blackened mound that Sam approached with caution. “Cas?” he called out.

Most of Cas’ eyes, crystal like, floating, were gone, a handful of faintly glowing orbs blinked up at Sam, Sam doubted that he was truly being seen at all. “You okay?”

 _Sam?_ Cas asked, so quiet and so weak that it made Sam’s eyes itch.

“Yeah, hey Cas.” He said and tried to smile.

Cas’ eyes sunk low to the ground, the rest of him all pulled back into itself, if Sam was a more positive man he’d have said Cas was resting.

“I can work with this.” Dean said.

Sam turned to look at him.

Dean was smiling, something small, something shaking but it was calculated too, the kind of smile that meant Dean had an idea, his mind was made up and Sam was not going to like said idea one single bit. It was the kind of smile that said; ‘I’m sorry’ so loudly Sam felt the need to protest before Dean even said anything.

“Wait—”

“Pretty sure I can fix this. Look, the only reason I’m walking and talking today is cos Cas gave me something, a part of himself that I think someone else needs more,” said Dean simply.

Sam stilled, statue frozen on the outside. He stared dumbly at his brother, yet Dean's eyes were unblinking, shining with a kind of sincerity that was a rare but true Winchester special. Inside Sam was all chaos as his heart forgot its normal rhythm, slamming against his ribcage. “Dean—”

“No, hear me out.” he interrupted, glacially calm.  “A life for a life, that’s what Cas told me, that’s what he’s always told me and, fixing cuts and bruises, small little things that’s easy, that’s what I can do. I can’t heal this, I know I can’t but the part of Cas that’s me? That can. Cas, he’s helped me a lot, he’s helped me be happy man, I dunno, I can do this for him. For the people up there who’ve got no clue why all this shit is happening.”

“What…what are you saying?”

“It’ll work. I know it will, this’ll fix everything.” Dean shook his head, raised a hand, spoke to Sam slowly and assuredly, so that every word sunk in and came across with the Winchester brand of convincing. Soft, assured.  “I give the part of Cas that’s in me, to them, and this all, this all goes away, they heal, Cas heals, all that damage at home. I can fix it.”

It was… Dean was taking his time, choosing his words carefully, deliberate. A raw protest scratched out of Sam’s chest.

Dean shook his head and looked away.

“I ain’t gonna let you guys die down here. Neither of you. Not when I can do something.”

“But you’ll _die_.”

“I know Sam, hell, it won’t be the first time,” he said, so quiet his voice was almost inaudible. “I don’t see another option man.”

“No, we can, we could—” But Sam didn’t have anything. There was a frozen hush when Sam realised, for the first time they didn’t have _options_ , that he wouldn’t be able to bring Dean around. Horror swelled in Sam’s throat. He tugged his eyes away, clamped them shut. Numb inside. “Dean—”

“After, Cas or our buddy here, might have enough strength to get you back home. And after I do this, you’ve gotta take care of Cas for me okay? He doesn’t,” Dean took a breath, started again, speaking softly. “He’s not gonna handle this well. You gotta take care of him, this human shit still wigs him out.”

“You’re talking about killing yourself.”

“I’m talking about saving people, saving you.” Dean countered, with the same sort of gentleness that Sam had seen him use when out on hunts, talking to the bereaved. “I’ve had a good life, thought for a while there I’d die at the bottom of a ravine or behind a gun, but instead I’ve had all this, got a chance to see how you turned out.”

Sam barely recognized the sound of his own voice when he spoke. “But, I just got you back.”

“Yeah, sorry I ditched out on you. Again.” Dean's tone turned low, and earnest. “But you handled it then right? Got a girl, had a life, balancing hunting and legacy stuff , shit Sammy I’m so proud of you. Wish we had more time to get to know each other now but…”

Sam felt the slight pressure of Dean’s hand on his shoulder, felt it slide up and around the back of his neck as Dean pulled him in so they were just inches away, voices kept to a whisper between them.

“You’re gonna handle this.” Dean said and squeezed him. “You’ve got this.”

“I’m so sorry Dean.”

At that, Dean crumpled a little, eyes turning unguarded and grief-stricken. His composure was lost for the full second it took for him to swallow, to blink once. “Maybe after I do this, and you get back upstairs or, wherever home is, you can man up and marry the damn girl you’ve been texting yeah?” He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow almost playfully, but there was weight behind it too. “I’ve seen you snooping around, smiling like an idiot down at that thing.”

“Her name’s Eileen,” Sam said, and it was impossible, even now to keep the corner kick up to his mouth from his expression when he spoke of her. “I love her so fucking much.”

Dean smiled, nodded just slightly. “She sounds perfect. Marry her. That’s an order y’hear?”

Sam heard.

In the next moment, Sam was gathered up like a kid, breathing Dean in with his arms around his brother’s shoulders. Dean’s around him. God. Sam felt the weight of all the years they’d been apart in that single moment, but more than that, he felt all the years they’d been together, like this, family.

And Castiel was family too now, Sam realised, and he was about to be the only family Sam had linked to who Dean was now, who Dean had grown to be. They’d have to be there for each other, because without Dean, that tenuous tie Castiel had to the human world, would be gone.

Dean was pulling away now, even though Sam didn’t want him to. He slid back to how they were before, seated at Sam’s side. Sam felt the burn of tears starting up behind his eyes and blinked hard.

“Yeah Dean.” He whispered, and he knew that was damn inadequate, that it wasn’t at all what deserved to be said. But Sam _couldn’t_.

Next to him, Dean was taking shuddering breaths. Sam could feel him the tremors through the press of Dean’s shoulder, and he reached across, gripped Dean’s upper arm, held onto him. “Okay.”

“Okay.”  Dean agreed around a choke, swiped angrily at his eyes. “Now, I’m not really sure how to do this but, I’ve got an idea, I think. Gut feeling.”

Sam nodded.

Dean cleared his throat. “Seriously, Cas isn’t gonna, he’s not. He needs people around him alright, people who understand and listen, he needs people, just to be a little more human. Dude can’t get by on his own anymore.”

“I’ll take care of him.” Sam assured.

Dean almost smiled. “I know you will Sammy,” he said, his voice brittle. “It’s been, it’s been great seeing you again, despite all this bullshit, wish we had some more time, just us, y’know? Without all this.”

“Yeah.” Sam choked out. “Me too.”

Dean clapped him on the shoulder, as he slowly got to his feet. “Hey, baby?” he called to Cas, heading towards him, steps sure footed, steady, not a single break in his pace. “We’re gonna fix this, I have an idea.”

Dean looked so small standing next to the pile of pieces that was Cas. He appeared even smaller when Castiel lifted his crowned head, even less eyes burning now than he’d had moments prior. Dark cracks were spreading all over his body, parts of him moving even more inhumanly than Sam believed they were meant to.

“First, I need you to check on Sammy for me okay? He’s hurt,” Sam opened his mouth, closed it, unsure of how he felt being made an unwitting accomplice to Dean’s betrayal. With the creaking sound of a building collapsing Cas swung his massive head in the direction of Sam, the few of his eyes remaining, shining faintly.

“Need you to take a look at him.” Dean said, and touched the side of Cas’ face with one hand. “Can you do that for me?”

Cas swayed his head back and several limbs stretched out to the younger spirit nestled by his side.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of them,” said Dean.

Cas was slow moving, obviously in pain, he unwound himself from the other God, crawled across the floor and Sam, fuck. Sam headed over to him, couldn’t watch Cas make his way over like that.

 _Sam,_ said Cas. Sam stumbled a little when tendrils reached out and encircled his ankles, one came up and felt over his chest, checking him over.

Hey Cas, Sam tried but the words died in his throat.

He couldn’t see Dean properly, Cas so large that this close up he took up most of Sam’s field of vision. But he knew, knew that whatever Dean was doing, however he was doing it, he was doing it now and Sam couldn’t…he just _couldn’t._

He felt Cas’ touch recede. _Sam?_

And then Cas turned, moving just enough for Sam to see Dean glowing, kneeling beside the other spirit, one hand, glowing pressed to his chest.

Pressed in.

_Dean?_

Sam saw Dean turned towards them, caught Dean’s eyes, glowing now, a weak quicksilver as the air around him began to ripple, his hand sinking in was now pulling out. Sam caught the pain suddenly lancing Dean’s features, felt himself stumble forward, felt Cas twist and scream. He could make out Dean’s mouth opening, lips forming silent words.

Cas exploded into a flurry of limbs and movement. _DEAN! NO!_

Sam dropped to the ground, smacked down by a part of Cas he didn’t quite catch. His face pressed into the dirt, his arms folded up and over his head as, from between his fingers, he watched his brother light up the underground like a supernova.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:**  
>     
> \- Main Character Death


	33. Chapter 33

**_  
_**

 

**Grass Lake Charter, Michigan**

 

Sam could taste something on the end of his tongue, something strong, sharp, bitter enough that it had his mouth puckering, nose scrunched into a painful pinch. He couldn’t quite figure out what it was, but he supposed it didn’t matter either because he could feel the wind on his pebbling skin, feel the heavy weight of his clothes and was aware, strikingly, that he was no longer wherever he had been.

The memory of Dean burning up, of a swooping, flying feeling, Sam's own falling into some abyss was a wind-swept scream against his eyelids. An endless plunge.

Sam opened his eyes a crack and the scorching daylight after the underground was enough to make his eyes water.

He heaved himself up bitterly, out of the grit and the dirt. Crumpled, green leaves clung to his clothes, there were indents in his arms and legs where twigs and rocks had been pressing in, spots that were a little sore now. Sam rubbed them absently, a groan bitten off between his teeth.

He twisted, scanned the horizon. There were felled trees sprouting with saplings, moss, still green still living, lush, breathing forest around him. Somewhere, a bird was calling. The soil under Sam’s fingers was soft, rich. When he turned to look back in the other direction he could see the remnants of machinery, burnt red with rust and erosion, as though they had been sitting out in the forest for decades, not weeks... Months?

Sluggishly, Sam’s eyes passed over the ruined metal in front of him, the towering white oak standing pale in the daylight, like a lingering snow after winter. Beyond him the tree - Cas - was extended a little above ground, his roots stretching all out, and beneath them, a huddled mass, and for a moment Sam thought it was a thicker, closer tangle of roots, but it wasn’t roots, it was…

Oh… Sam lurched to his feet on a choked cry. Breathless surprise, grief, Dean. That was Dean under there. Sam hauled himself over one of the other fallen trees. His fingers scraped over rough bark, tangled in a thicket of ivy. Blood welled in his mouth, and Sam was faintly aware of biting his tongue.

He hobbled to Cas’ side, Cas stretched out over his head, branches as thick as Sam's biceps. Cas swayed and shivered, an age-old creaking Sam could hear in his teeth. He could make out Dean’s thigh peeking out beneath him, visible through the network of roots, one splayed hand, still and unmoving.

“Cas,” Sam croaked. A part of him, some small, distant part, realised he was talking to a tree.

“Cas,” he tried again, kneeling at the base of Cas’ trunk. “C…”

Sam took a quick, deep breath. Fought against the urge to slump his forehead against Cas’ base. “Cas, you gotta… I gotta take a look at him okay?” He managed, strained but gentle. “You’ve gotta let him go.”

Cas didn’t move.

“Cas,” Sam tried, begged. He couldn’t—he couldn’t touch Dean from here. Dean’s body was too far under, Cas’ grip on him too tight. “Please.” Sam reached out and touched him, a palm to warm wood, the strange heat of Cas was a shock, but less of a shock than him moving, roots, curling across the earth, withdrawing back from Dean’s body. One curled up Sam’s ankle.

“Thank you.” Sam breathed, he kept close to the root curled around him, the touch somewhat grounding.

Dean was… Sam had to look away. He was close enough to see Dean’s body in more detail now. Body, yeah. Sam knew whatever part of Dean that had animated him, made him who he was wasn’t actually there anymore.  Whatever had happened to Dean after he’d taken out Cas’ Heart had burned his skin to a blistering mess, melted through to show off pink and red and bone along his arms, down his torso. There were gaps in his flesh, dark purple hollows beneath his eyes. Yet, for all of that he looked asleep. From the neck-up he looked almost peaceful. Eyes closed. Lips parted.

“SAM!”

Eileen.

Sam wrenched his eyes away from Dean’s body, twisting so fast he fell back. Eileen was there, running towards him.

It felt as though Sam’s heart started beating again. “Eileen!”

There was an explosion of movement as Cas dissolved. He collapsed into a furred, ferocious creature and charged forward on all fours, leaving Dean unguarded by Sam’s side.

“Cas!”

Eileen made a sound, drew her gun. Shot once before Cas swiped a massive paw toward her.

“CAS, STOP!”

Cas didn’t stop. A blur of white movement, Cas rose up on his hind legs, his roar something almost out of a movie, too surreal to be true. Sam vaulted over everything in his path, no gun no weapon no anything. He threw himself into Cas’ side, completely expecting the swipe, the burst of pain as Cas swatted at him, throwing him to the ground.

Pain burst behind Sam’s eyelids. A dozen things happened at once.

Sam threw himself again, in front of Eileen, between her and Cas. He screamed. “NO! CAS!” He wasn’t sure if his voice would carry out, would break through. There was the unmistakable shock of something slamming into him.

Cas was there, snorting, furious, swaying his massive weight on four paws. Attacked by a bear twice in two weeks, attacked by Cas, Sam swore he could feel his heart in his throat. Shaking, he raised his palms up. “She’s good, she’s a friend, she’s—”

“Sam?” Eileen asked, sprawled out on the ground now, hand still raised, gun steady.

Sam tossed a glance to her, “drop the gun.”

“Sam—”

“Please,” Sam twisted so he could sign at the same time. ‘Drop the gun. It’s okay.’

Eileen placed her gun on the ground beside her, eyes flicking between Cas towering and growling in front, and Sam. She nodded once, stayed put. Sam’s heart clenched, tight and warm inside his chest.

“Castiel,” Sam said, turning back to him. He moved his hands with his words, tried to keep everything slow. “This is Eileen, she’s my partner. She’s not going to hurt you. She’s not going to hurt Dean.”

Mentioning Dean seemed to be the trick too it. At once Cas faded out, white mist from where he had been.

“Sam?” Eileen said, Sam collapsed on the ground beside her, drawing her into his arms.

Eileen was the first to pull back. ‘Are you alright? Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine.’

Hands slid up Sam’s arms, grasping his shoulders, cupping his cheek. Eileen’s eyes were wide, worried. Sam wanted nothing more than to kiss her. He felt his own hands slide around her arms, touch her gently before withdrawing back.

“Jesus Sam.” Eileen said and signed. “I got your messages, we’ve been looking for you, God Sam, you’ve been gone three weeks.”

“Three weeks?”

It wasn’t a surprise really. Because nothing could surprise Sam anymore. Last time he’d been in some other realm it had felt like minutes but days had passed. It wasn’t hard to see how weeks had passed up here, when below had been so agonising. Time moved differently.

He took it in his stride. Three weeks, alright, okay. He swiped a shaking hand through his hair, tried to get his head back in the game.

‘Yes,’ Eileen drew in closer to him. Sam felt her tense in his arms, and knew her eyes were sliding past him to Dean.

Dean’s body.

“He—” Sam tried but his voice cracked and of course how they were, Eileen couldn’t see him.  He pulled back and signed slowly, concentrating on every movement, making sure they were steady. “Dean, he, he got us out of there, saved Cas, he—”

Eileen touched Sam’s shoulders even as she stood up. It was the best thing Sam had felt days and he had to hold himself back from just falling into her.

Dean’s body was where they’d left it; flecks of dirt now on his face, on his cheek. Cas was there on top of him, a white rabbit, standing up against Dean’s shoulder, small tongue cleaning the dirt off from Dean’s jaw.

Sam’s gut twisted. “Cas,” He said and it felt like he was scolding, he wanted it to be scolding. Cas ignored him, and only froze as Eileen came past Sam and knelt down. His eyes were wide, ears flattened to his skull, Cas focused on the two of them, not moving from Dean’s shoulder.

Eileen’s voice was a little wobbly when she spoke. “Is this—”

“Yeah.” Sam said. He felt Eileen’s hand encircle his own, squeeze him then let go.

Sam found his gaze pulled to Dean’s body again, catching the way Dean’s head in the action was tossed to the side now, mouth canted, one eye open a little—

Sam didn’t realise he was making a sound until Eileen touched him, quieted him, she drew away to speak and eyed Dean and Cas warily.

“We need to leave.” She said, cool, calm, collected, herself. Sam’s heart swelled just looking at her. “Can you lift him?”

“Yes. Yes. I can.” He could. He sunk to his knees, tried to look Dean over like he would any other body that needed moving. As a hunter, Sam had moved quite a few. But the impulse not to touch Dean was strong, especially with Cas on top of him, white fur stained with red Sam refused to think about.

“Cas, we need to move him.” he said.

Stubbornly, Cas said nothing. Did nothing.

Sam sucked in a breath, against his better judgement, he reached out with one hand. “Cas, please.”

Cas was quick, biting down hard with a ferocity Sam would never had associated with a creature that small, but ultimately less than what Sam expected Cas capable off.

Better a rabbit than a bear.

Sam swallowed the yelp of pain and felt Eileen scoot forward to him but stopped her with a look. He spoke slowly, unable to sign while Cas was biting down. He curled his other hand around Cas’ back, fingers meeting wet matted fur, staining his fingers. “It’s okay.”

Cas didn’t struggle, perfectly still, tiny mouth clamped hard on the side of Sam’s hand, teeth still digging deep.

“I know,” Sam said. I know, I know, I know. He wanted to hit someone too, he wanted to hurt someone, as much as he was hurting. Instead, he scooped Cas up with one hand, Cas’ teeth dug in hard and Sam held him up to his chest and felt a small fluttering there against his fingers.

He had to swallow several times before he found a way to speak. “Car?” he asked, looking right at Eileen. She nodded.

Sam winced at the feel of Cas digging in deeper, of small but sharp nails scratching. He tightened his hold around Cas’ back, kept him close while Eileen moved closer. Sam wasn’t about to hand Cas off to her, not doubting for a second that the only reason Cas was how he was and wasn’t something much worse was because it was Sam trying to deal with him.

“I can take him.” Eileen said, eyes fixed on Sam’s face. She was talking about Dean.

Sam shook his head. “I don’t—”

“Sam,” said Eileen, she touched his arm.  Cas tensed, bit down hard. Sam held back another sound. “I have him.”

Sam nodded, twitched. He felt Cas scratching at his arm. “Okay, yeah, okay.”

She had this.

 

_______

 

They had to lay Dean in the back seat, Eileen pulled a blanket up over him and though he didn’t like it, Sam placed Cas in the back too. He watched Cas disappear beneath the blanket.

The door closed in front of his face before he could slide inside.

Eileen was there beside him. Her hand slide of the door handle and caught Sam’s wrist. She pulled him around to the front of the car.  “You’re hurt.”

Sam felt chrome underneath him and sat down on the bonnet. Legs splayed, he tried to focus on breathing.

He didn’t realise Eileen had left until she came back. She took his hand in her own, wiped a cool, cold pressure over it, an alcohol swab Sam realised when he felt the sting. Sam heard her release a soft stream of breath as she turned back to the kit now on the bonnet beside him and pulled out a bandage.

Sam gently touched her waist to get her attention.

“I’ll drive,” he said slowly, paying attention to the shape of his mouth as he spoke. “I need to drive.”

Eileen said nothing, she looked at him a long moment then dropped her eyes back to her work.

When his hand was bandaged up Sam used it to sign; ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’

Eileen leant forward, hand to his jaw, lips to his cheek. Just the briefest of touches. It felt wrong to be happy she was here while Dean was in the back seat, growing cold.

She fell silent again, and Sam wondered  if it was the stress or the exhaustion that was weighing the most on her. The skin beneath her eyes was bruised.

“Okay Sam.” She looked up at him, “Okay.”

Sam nodded once, throat too tight to say much else.

 

_______

 

Grass Lake Charter as Sam passed through it, was entirely overrun. Hardly a scrap of man-made infrastructure remained; most of the concrete in the road had burst open, massive trunks had split apart the asphalt, green rising through every crack and crevice. Services had set up tents, campsites and medical bays all around, but quiet enough for Sam to realise they had been there awhile, at least a couple of days, the brunt of the crisis was over, right now the town was just healing. There were no infected people, a few townspeople Sam recognised, they watched him roll through town.

Sam wondered how the townspeople and services were rationalising this all to themselves. His experience with authorities and bystanders was that they did not cope well with unexplained phenomenon.

Most blamed climate change.

Eileen didn’t suggest that they stop and scope out the town, see how everyone was recovering and Sam didn’t want to.

His eyes returned to the road, purposefully avoiding the rear-view mirror. Sam gripped the steering wheel tighter as they rolled through the small back roads that soon shifted back into rolling countryside. They were driving east of the township, and slid easily into the state highway tracing a path through long stretches of wheat fields.

It was a twelve-hour drive back to Sioux Falls.

 

_______

 

The back seat was starting to smell.

Sam didn’t quite know where they were, didn’t quite know how far or close they were to where they were going. He had to remind himself a couple of times they were driving to Sioux Falls. The sun was dipping, merely a red splash across the lower half of the sky, but still Sam pulled off into the grassy shelf of the road, car barely at a full stop before he was wrenching off his belt and collapsing into the grass as vomit bubbled up in his throat.

“It’s okay.” Gentle hands stroked his shoulders, smoothed the hair off of his forehead. Sam winced as his nose burned, he wiped a hand over his mouth.

“He’s not going in the trunk.” He said, then repeated himself when he realised Eileen didn’t see him. He wiped his hands on the grass, on his thighs before signing: ‘I’m sorry, I can’t leave him. I can’t put him in the trunk.’

He could almost hear the gears in Eileen’s head grind as she registered what he said. She winced, face creasing with distaste, an expression that may have been aimed at the position Sam was in or his words.

‘Sam, how long has it been since you’ve eaten? Had a drink?’

That…Sam didn’t know. He didn’t much feel like either. He shrugged.

Eileen nodded briskly, her brow creased further. ‘I’ll drive.’

They’d loaded Dean and Cas into the car what felt like days back, but in reality—Sam realised, was probably only a few hours.

He could still feel what it had been like to lift up his brothers cold body to help Eileen get him into the back seat. The way Dean’s head had lolled to the side, his body still oddly floppy, the flaccidity that followed death hadn’t had worn off.

They’d sat and driven in dead silence after, Sam staring straight ahead, mute, somehow still thinking that maybe Dean would sit up, cut break their hush with a wry smile and an apology for a shitty, unfunny joke.

A hand came around Sam’s shoulders, tugged him up. “Sam.”

Okay, yes, he had to get up.

Eileen led him back to the car. Sam leant back against the front bonnet, cool evening air tugged at the collar of his jacket. He shivered and bit back a curse at the cold air, the way the wind seeped through his layers. The smell wasn’t as strong as he remembered or thought. The doors were opened, they should somehow stay open. As though reading his mind Eileen unwound all the windows, he shifted the blankets around in the back seat a bit, shut the door. Headed for the trunk and when she came back to him with was with a bottle of water and a bag of what looked like pretzels.

Sam slumped in his spot but unscrewed the cap on the bottle Eileen passed to him all the same. He ignored the food for now, gut too twisted to look at it long. Ahead of them, the golden ball of the sun sunk fast as night closed in.

‘Are you okay with this?’ Eileen asked him. The unspoken, we don’t have to take him, implicit in her movements.

Sam nodded, his own actions a little stilted. ‘Yeah.’

He found his gaze drawn to the back seat. The lump of Dean’s body, the smaller mound that was Cas with him. They could do it here, bury or burn Dean, Sam doubted Cas would let them but it would be better here now, before Dean started to rot, or before his body went rigid.

Sam had had enough, and he brought his hands up to his face, covered his eyes and thought he might just sink down to his ass and sit on the ground until he froze to death out here.

Or he could handle it, like Dean wanted him to.

He exhaled, once, twice. ‘Okay, I’m fine. I’m ready.’ He was ready.

Sam watched Eileen’s jaw twitch as though she was chewing on the inside of her mouth. But she didn’t refute. Sam got up, thumbed at the bottle in his hands, the pretzel packet crinkled. He rounded around the side of the car, but, Eileen stopped him with a hand to his hip.

‘Passenger.’ She said and scooted around him and behind the wheel.

They rolled on with all the windows down, the heater on full, Sam’s cheek pressed against the strap of his seatbelt.

 

**_  
_**

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

 

Sam must have fallen asleep because he came around to the car slowing down, to a sun barely rising over the stacked scrap metal and scrapped cars. Eileen drove them through the rusted old gate, up into the salvage yard, following the cleared, private driveway right to the house itself.

It had been raining, and with the way the oncoming daylight hit the wet heaps of scrap cars and metal had it glinting, water shimmered over everything. Eileen parked them off past the hulking remains of a once white dodge pickup.

“Sam,” she said to get his attention. He looked at her, she signed: ‘We're here.'

Sam opened the door and pushed up to stand. He was clumsy as he moved out, his body sluggish after being hauled up in the car. He tried to shake it off but the tiredness was bone deep, enough that it made him shiver, settled in his blood.

He rounded to the back looked in on the back seat. Dean’s blanket had slipped some, Sam could see a lump, Cas, moving around beneath it. Sam clicked the door open, ignoring the shake of his hands. Eileen came around his side. she watched him sign with tired eyes.

‘Let me just, I don’t want Bobby to see him like this. He needs something covering him.’

Eileen pressed against the door, hands fast. ‘There’s a blanket here Sam. It’s okay, we have him.’

Sam dropped his eyes to where Dean’s head was poking a little out of the blanket…twelve hours, he found himself thinking. His brother had been dead for over twelve hours, give or take, and even if his body was still lax and floppy when Sam reached out and touched him he was gone, and they needed to decide what to do with him. It was a thought that while looking at him, Sam knew was necessary, but also felt too raw to deal with.

He tucked the blanket in around Dean’s knees, made sure it was settled over his chest, he thought, logically, it would be best to burn Dean’s body. They’d have to travel a fair bit around this area to find a stop to get a pyre going, without the local fire department rocking up and—

“Fucking hell,” Sam swore when he moved enough of the blanket to see Cas curled up between the crook of Dean’s neck and shoulder. Red stood out starkly against white fur. “Jesus, Cas.”

Cas did nothing, said nothing. Just blinked sedately up at Sam, face marred with blood, his tiny paws, claws, and fur stained.

Burial then, Sam thought and ignored the painful flopping of his heart in his chest. "We’ve gotta bury him Cas," he said. Sam heard footsteps behind him, a squeaky wheel, he pulled the blanket back up over Dean’s body though his mouth was still going. “If you’re gonna do something to heal him Cas do it now, I know you can, Dean—Dean said you brought him back before. You’ve got your groove back, right? You can do this.”

“Boy?”

Sam turned, Bobby’d wheeled up behind him, Eileen by his side, both of their faces drawn in the kind of exhaustion Sam felt as though he was the cause of. He hated to be the cause of.

“Bobby.” He heard himself choke out. And simple as that, he was down on his knees in the dirt and the hard concrete wrapping his arms around Bobby. “H-hey.”

He fell forward more into Bobby’s chair when the other man’s arms came up around him. Bobby's voice was calm and gentle, understanding. “C’mon son. It’s alright.”

“Dean he—”

“Christ. C’mon now.” Bobby said, accompanying the words with a few pats to his back, a hard squeeze that had his chair wheeling a bit. “Why don't you let Eileen and I handle this—"

“No,” Sam drew back and cut him off in a way he knew was too aggressive, as he saw Bobby flinch and flicked his eyes over to Eileen. “I’m handling it.” he insisted, tugging at the hem of his shirt. His voice came out without the assurance he’d intended behind it, something inside him was ripping. “I’m handling it,” he said again, even though the junkers and the cars and the walls were closing in.  I don’t want to bury him Bobby, I don’t want to bury Dean again.

Sam only realized after that he was saying all that out loud. He felt a hand on his, felt Bobby drag him back down so that they were on the same level. He clapped Sam’s cheek, his shoulder, scruffy face worn, baseball cap pulled low over his head.

“Here, now, there you go, Sam. There you go.”

Sam sucked a breath in, nodded.Like a kid he allowed himself to be pulled into Bobby’s hug.

“We’ll deal with this alright?” Bobby told him, voice gruff in Sam's ear. “We’ll deal with this.”

For a moment, the tight rein Sam had been trying to maintain flapped loose and he stumbled, helpless to stop the sting of tears. He breathed deep, steadied himself.

“You get inside now alright?” Bobby said, clapping the back of his neck. “You’re no good to me dropped.”

Sam nodded.

Eileen touched his wrist. “Come’on Sam.” She led him away.

Bobby's house held its breath. Even approaching the door felt to Sam like walking into the wake of a storm, the air crackling, his lungs tightening. Climbing the porch stairs took something out of him, something Sam didn’t know that could be taken now, not when he’d spent the last six or so hours of their drive down here asleep.

The moments ticked as though grains of sand through an hourglass. Sam felt as though he’d counted the corners of his bed post that he was sitting on, the cold cup of tea Eileen had brought him some time ago, a thousand times.

Sam stared at the old wallpapered wall of Bobby’s spare room and felt…useless, tired, depleted. There was such sorrow and hopelessness in him that Sam felt tears spring.

‘Castiel won’t let you touch him’ Sam said as Eileen came back into the room with a change of clothes for him. He substituted Cas’ name with the sign for rabbit, then, stripped out of his clothes and said again; ‘You can’t hurt him, he’s just trying to help Dean.’

Eileen smoothed the new shirt out over his chest, took Sam’s hand in her own and sat beside him, face turned to the dip at his neck, her side pressed along him in a way that was comforting.

“Bobby’s taking care of him,” she said out loud in what was perhaps meant to be a whisper. She smoothed her fingers over his knuckles. “Rest, please.”

The way she moved, the way she brought them down to lie alongside one another, Eileen behind him, shifting up on her elbow so he could see her signs.

She kissed the back of Sam's neck and he remembered, all at once, how much he’d missed her this last week or so. Through the hardships. Through the slog of no leads, no ideas, the long car trip, the nights alone.

Eileen was the one, and there was a sort of peaceful security that came with that. He turned on his side to face her, reluctant to put enough room between them to sign. Leaning in close, he kissed her cheek. “You’re it for me.” He breathed, before pulling back to sign: ‘The last thing I said to my brother was that you’re it for me, you’re the one. He was happy about it, he was so happy.’

Eileen kissed him, a brief press of lips. ‘Sleep Sam, it's okay now, please just sleep.’

Though that was true, Sam couldn’t get to sleep for a long time.

 

_______

 

 

The next time Sam was awake it was late afternoon outside and he was alone in bed, a ratty old quilt pulled up over him, water, food, aspirin on his bedside.

Sam breathed through the fog in his head, rolled over onto his back. Dean’s dead, he thought, but it resounded bluntly. My brother is dead.

It wasn’t the first time he’d woken up with that thought. Dean had been missing, presumed dead for a decade, almost half the length of time Sam had thought sitting down, that they’d actually ever been together before that.

Sam lifted and shifted his legs off the bed, stood and shuffled his way to the window to pull back the blinds. Eileen’s car was there, parked around the front now, he couldn’t see anything in the back seat, no blanket, no Dean, no Cas.

Swallowing past the sudden constriction in his throat, Sam dragged his eyes and his body away padding across the hardwood floor, out to the landing to the bathroom. The tap spluttered out a few drops of cool water before turning scolding as he turned the faucet. Sam cupped his hands under the stream, felt a small amount of comfort from the familiar sound of clanking pipes as he splashed his face. It woke him up enough to realise his bladder was fit to burst. He used the sink as a bird bath, dabbing his face, his neck, arms, under arms and chest. The idea of stripping down and getting in the shower had something beneath his skin hurting.

There were fresh clothes for him on the end of the bed as he came back, clothes from home - from the Bunker, Sam realised as he held them. He dressed himself as swiftly as he could manage when his body felt wrung out and battered.

Even Bobby’s back looked about as wrung out as Sam felt. He was in the kitchen as Sam came down, wheeled right up to the lowered bench. He was stirring a pot of something on the old, lowered stove he’d brought in to accommodate the wheelchair. Sam pulled out a chair at the table, and watched Bobby roll over to get the coffee machine going.

“Was about to wake you,” Bobby said. “Got some beans on the go, eggs, bacon are in the fridge.”

Sam still wasn’t hungry, feeling an odd disconnect from the occasional pangs in his stomach, but he did get up and go to the fridge when Bobby looked at him over his shoulder. His face was pale, he was red-eyed.

“Where’s Cas?” Sam asked, instead of asking where Dean was. Where Dean’s body was.

Bobby rubbed at his beard, spoke carefully. “Your boy, Cas? He’s not a happy customer. Wasn’t too pleased when we tried to do what needed doing.”

“He human?” Sam asked, refraining from saying Cas wasn’t his boy, rather Dean’s.

Or had been Dean’s.

“Puma or something for a while after the rabbit. Really, whole different thing seeing it than hearing it over the phone.”

“Dean—” he started. Bobby visibly winced, lifted his head.

“I got the gist of it, managed to get some sense out of Eileen.”

Sam nodded faintly as Bobby turned back around and poured out some coffee. Sam’s brother was dead, probably underground, Sam thought, and the loss of that struck him dumb for a moment. Had him staring out at nothing.

“You alright, son?” Bobby prodded wheeling over. He grimaced as he set the mug of steaming coffee in front of Sam, wheeled around opposite him, drinking from his own mug. “Damn stupid question, but after the last time.”

Bobby left it hanging there, and Sam took a moment to actually think about it, Bobby’s question, about the last time he’d thought his brother dead. “Last time I didn’t...I didn’t know Dean was dead, I thought he was, I believed he was.” The coffee tasted good going down, Sam could already feel the buzz of caffeine in his system as he gulped the hot liquid. He wiped at his mouth after, met Bobby’s eye. “Where’s Cas?”

Bobby swallowed hard, nodded, then looked away from Sam for a moment, over toward the window. “It’s—He’s out there, sitting with, with your brother.” He scratched absently at his beard. “Ain’t said a word, ain’t moved a step, gave your girl a rough go as we were trying to move him.”

Bobby wheeled away from him then, so his back was to Sam he stirred and then removed the pot from the heat. Bobby dished up breakfast in silence.

“Dean, goddamnit.”  Bobby sniffed. He scrubbed at his face, then pushed a bowl over to Sam, the set in his jaw a hard, mournful line. “Eat your breakfast, you ain’t going nowhere without your breakfast.”

They ate their meals in silence.

 

_______

 

Eileen had made a trip into town, Bobby’d told Sam, taking his truck for supplies, groceries, Sam double checked Bobby's truck was gone as he headed out the front door, pausing on the porch a moment to survey the front yard.

Bobby’d told him that Eileen had moved Dean out back, away from the dogs who’d come in through the front gate sometimes. They hadn’t buried him, they hadn’t burned him. But he stood out starkly against the unfinished veggie patch, the rusted-out trailer bed and the massive wooden box Eileen and Bobby had stuck him in.

Sam thought then that he should ask why Bobby had spare caskets lying around.

Cas was there. Not a puma like Bobby had said, but a rabbit again, sitting atop of Dean’s closed box, fur ragged and dirty and unclean, the complete opposite to the snow-white Sam knew him as.

Sam wondered if he had eaten anything, drank anything since they’d got here.

He didn’t move as Sam approached.

“Hey, Cas.” Sam said, standing a little off from Dean. He couldn’t bring himself to get too close. “Are you—” Healing him, fixing this?

Cas wasn’t even looking at him, perched on the box lid, his nose was between his front paws, ears flopped back.

It was hard seeing Cas like this, and harder still to remember he wasn’t how he appeared. It made Sam’s stomach feel strange and tight, that came with the memory of the fire and strangeness that was really Cas. Blazing through the underground, then huddled, dying.

Sam wasn’t even sure of what Cas was anymore. If he was entirely honest with himself he doubted he was ever actually sure. What a spirit was seemed so fundamental, so absolute. What Sam had gathered from his research of spirits and Kami was that Cas was something of nature, a force in-and-of himself.

What kind of person must it take to change a being like that? Sam looked at the casket and thought he knew.

“Cas, I just—” Sam closed his eyes, took a moment. “You know the first time? That Dean died? When, it turns out, he was with you? I was…I was a mess. And at the time, I looked at all the options, ways to bring him back, ways to find him, witchcraft and scrying, and hacking and deals.”

There had been a hollow feeling inside of Sam for the last ten years. And he’d wondered all through that time how he’d ever be able to fill it; not knowing Dean was alive, not knowing why he left, not knowing if he was happy. This time it was different, he was different, this time he knew.

“I didn’t cope, for a long time I didn’t cope. And I’m not coping now, I mean, I just got him back. I just remembered what it was like to have him around and now he’s gone again.”

The box was cool when Sam touched it, Cas’ fur soft. It was a strange sort of, not ownership but responsibility then that reached out in Sam as he touched Cas in some sort of mockery of a pat—they needed to get him clean. He could feel the tiny rise and fall of Cas’ chest as he pet him.  “But I promised him, I promised Dean that after this, I’d take care of you, but I can’t take care of you if you can’t even speak—”

Cas’ transformation was like a mini explosion, a burst of mist and force that had Sam reeling back, falling onto the junker behind him.

Cas was on his feet in an instant, naked, human, head lowered and fists clenched. He reminded Sam of the first time they’d met—what felt like so long ago, but in reality, was only a week or so—a being who seemed as though he could flatten towns.

Cas’ words flattened Sam then.

“You knew?” Cas said, and his eyes were aflame when he looked up. “You knew he planned this?”

Sam shook his head. “No, Cas, no, there wasn’t a plan. Dean—”

“Don’t lie to me.” Cas choked out, so close to him now Sam could almost feel the heat from Cas’ skin. “He gave it away, he gave my Heart away, gave himself away, knowing it would do this.” Cas gestured to the box with one hand, stumbling back a bit unsteadily.

“I thought he tricked you too.” He said and Sam’s heart broke. “But you knew.”

Sam didn’t move an inch as Castiel squared back his shoulders, all wiry muscle, his eyes shifted from grief stricken to feral.

“You should have stopped him,” Cas said, voice reverberating like a bone deep, soul shaking growl. “You should have done something, Sam you should have stopped him. I thought you were his _brother._ ”

That was too far, the one pressure point sensitive enough to make Sam erupt. Icy cold fury rose up, all the grief all the tiredness all the regret, bubbled up.

“You’re alive because of him!” Sam said.

“I have nothing because of you!” Cas yelled. “Dean is gone because of you!”

Later, Sam wouldn’t be able to say who swung first. But that was it, there was a flurry of motion so rapid that Sam’s brain had to sprint to catch up, a sudden fast pull of punches that landed hard as Sam and Cas both lurched into each other. A mess of bared teeth, flying fists, eyes clouded over with a grief so raw it came out like howling.

Dean’s body was quiet between them.

Cas got a hard hit to Sam’s chin, jolting him back. Sam’s own knuckles glanced off Cas’ cheek, Sam tried to grab him, his fists, his hands anything, Cas ducked around with a sharp elbow jab, a snarl, Sam threw out another fist there was a crack with the impact. Cas grunted. Sam had a clear shot of watching red flood down from Cas’ now broken nose. He didn’t get to look long, jab jab jab three quick slams to Sam’s gut had him buckling over, trying to heave in air.

Finger’s clamped to Sam’s arm, hauled him up, swung him around, Sam twisted out doubled the move back and dragged Cas into a choke hold, binding them together. Both of them breathing like a pair of steaming bulls.

“SAM!”

Sam let Cas go, stumbling a few feet away. Breathing hard. He watched through a dizzy haze Eileen jump out of her car. She seemed frozen in place, shopping bags abandoned in the passenger seat.

Cas collapsed to the ground, chest splotched with the blood pouring from his nose. Sam felt a cut above his eyes, his gut and chest hurt with every movement. He slumped against a junker, watching Cas reach up with bloody fingers and shift the bones in his nose to their proper place with an audible crack. Blue eyes looked up at Sam, one already swelling.

Sam breathed shallow and fast, regarding Cas through the awkward, tense silence between them. Cas, still naked, leaned forward with his hands on his knees and spat a phlegmy wad of blood onto the ground.

A levee broke.

“My brother is dead, saving our asses, saving innocent people, and you have the gall to say it’s my fault he did that? You think I’m going to deal with that, with this.” Sam threw a shaking hand in the direction of Dean’s body. “You selfish fucking asshole, I’m not allowed to grieve? I’m not allowed to feel sick, and hurt and upset that Dean made this choice, Dean made this choice himself Cas. What the fuck else could he do? Could any of us do?” Sam demanded, face creasing with fury.

A furrow marred Cas’ bloody forehead, and then he gasped, a ragged, wet sound into the hands that now covered his face, shoulders heaving.

“He means something to both of us,” Sam said helplessly, as Cas cried openly now. There was a mixture of horror and relief watching Cas cry, it meant—it meant something.

It meant Dean wasn’t coming back.

Sam stepped forward, slumped onto the ground beside Cas, he stopped short from putting a hand on him because the look on Cas’ face. A sharp little edge of breath escaped between Cas’ hands then he looked up, eyes closed, dark lashes shimmering when he looked up and trained his gaze on Dean.

Agony in every line. Sam wanted to say it was okay, he forgave him, they would get through this, all the things he’d rehearsed a hundred times with victims and witnesses to hunts, but the hollowness in his chest, the silence of the box in front of them bearing witness to all this mess commanded the only words Sam was capable of speaking then. Nothing would come out.

He turned and looked back at Cas, blood oozing from his nose. Sam felt his own blood stinging from the cut in his lip. He hissed. Cas glanced over. Studied Sam in silence until his lips pressed into a thin, pained line.

“You’re hurt.” He whispered.

His care made Sam uncomfortable enough to laugh painfully. He looked away and down ground between them.

Cas reached across the divide and before Sam could react his hand was cupping Sam’s throbbing face, pressing into the sore parts of his chin and cheek. His touch sent heat throughout Sam’s body. Sam caught the soft glow, couldn’t look directly at what Cas was doing but abruptly the pain in his ribs, and his face and his gut vanished, as if all his nervous system was hushed at once.

Cas drew back. Sam glanced at his healed hands, knuckles, He touched his face, unwittingly eyes sliding back to Dean.

“I can’t.” Cas said, voice breaking around the words. As if they hurt. He still hadn’t healed himself. “There is nothing left to heal. There is nothing, everything that was Dean isn’t there anymore, gone where I cannot follow.” Cas swallowed. “Energy can neither be created nor destroyed; I cannot repair what isn’t there. He’s gone.”

Sam saw something in Cas’ eyes as he spoke, a flash of guilt, but he wasn’t sure. His regret was so stark that it took Sam a moment or two to figure out a response. He swiped a hand across his eyes before he spoke.

“I’m sorry.” _Thank you._ “I’m trying to...I miss him, but you have to try too, otherwise we’ve got nothing.” He said knowing it wasn’t anywhere near adequate.

It was as if he hadn’t said anything at all. Cas was staring, unseeing where Dean was, he whispered. “I promised him, I would always keep him safe.”

Me too, Sam wanted to say but Eileen was suddenly there, kneeling down beside them, distraction enough by the way her expression was split. Sam blinked when Cas moved closer to him, away from Eileen. Regardless of the fight minutes before, their shoulders brushed, Cas shuffled into him, all animosity forgotten.

Eileen focused on Cas, holding out in her arms a pile of Sam’s clothes. “Hello, my name is Eileen.” She spoke gently, kept the clothes like a barrier between them. “Can I give these to you?”

Castiel’s face was fracturing into lines, he glanced at Sam, blue eyes starker against the dirt and blood still on his face, before looking back to Eileen. He took the clothes, placed them in his lap. “Thank you.”

This time Sam did reach out and squeeze his shoulder.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings**  
>  \- Main Character Death  
> \- Mild gore/brutal descriptions  
> \- Violence  
> \- Grief/Loss, Dissassociation, angst


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't quite know what to write here, no matter how many longfics I write it never gets easier summarising and thanking everyone throughout the whole gruelling and wonderful process of creating a fic. 
> 
> Basically **Thank you** all so much to all my readers and commenters, I would not have pushed so hard to finish this thing without you. 
> 
> I feel as though I have learnt so much from this whole process, and from all your reactions and questions and I hope to take this whole experience forward into new stories.
> 
> I really can't thank you all enough, especially you regular commenters <3
> 
> I hope you enjoy this final update, I also shamelessly hope you recommend this fic to others, I'm really proud of this monster, probably the proudest I've felt about a fanfic of mine for awhile. It would mean the world to me to have others read and enjoy this as much as all of you have.
> 
> I am eternally grateful to my beta **RabidBinBadger** who has selflessly been with me every step of the way fixing my random capitalisations, decimating my excessive commas and supplying me with enough comments and reactions to keep my faith up about every update. Thank you Binny xx  <3 You're a doll.
> 
> Also, thank you to all those who've drawn art for this fic, there is absolutely no higher compliment, and I adore all of your work and appreciation, thank you xx <3

**_  
_**

 

Castiel felt more as a  human.

While inhuman, he could think clearly; he could remember that death was nothing to fear, that it occurred to all things within existence. To die was life’s purpose, after all. There was nothing in all of the universes that lasted forever, not forests, not stars, not lives, not Gods. Energy was always changing, reforming, exploding.

Castiel hadn’t been prepared for Dean to change. To die.

He had always thought that, when Dean would die, for the final time, Castiel would have enough power--would be enough of himself--to cradle Dean’s energy to his chest and escort him into some other form, some other kind of energy. And he would live on. Infinite.

But that did not happen. Castiel couldn’t feel Dean at all the second they resurfaced from the other realm. His body had been just that, a body like any other. Now, here in Sioux Falls, watching from the rooftop as Dean’s family buried his body, Castiel still couldn’t feel him.

The loss was something he had no experience with. The _feeling_ of loss left Castiel’s human shaped mind raw, bleeding through memories of kissing his way up and down Dean’s body, of sitting with him in the front seat of a car, waiting in line for a drive-thru, of how Dean would nudge up against Castiel and say something teasing, playful in a way that had Castiel smiling.

A smile. Yes, that was something incredibly human that Castiel doubted he would do again for a long time.

Castiel looked up from his folded arms and watched as Sam laid the last of the soil atop of Dean’s body. A human custom; burial, born from centuries of ritual and disposal—though Castiel had taken it upon himself to clean and repair Dean’s body before they laid him to rest. It was the least he could do in such a circumstance, Dean deserved that respect.

Though he regretted that it had to be on this land. A land so barren of woodland, ruled by human garbage. Broken glass bottles, rusted out cars, scrap metal, moulding mattresses, plastic in a limitless array of colours, all of them ugly.

The pain of wasted, barren land was so distant in Castiel as to be in another room. Thoughts of Dean, instead, consumed his emotions.

Like smiling, he only ever cried as a human and he did so then, remembering those first moment of horrified realization as he screamed and yelled his sorrow out, trying to claw his Heart back into Dean’s chest because _Dean_ had been attached to that. His soul had been latched on, but the other God had already taken hold, already swallowed Dean and Castiel’s Heart whole.

Castiel wondered now, sitting atop of mossy tile and stained wood, what might have happened if he had been fast enough, well enough to do more than cradle the empty shell of Dean’s body as he was ejected from his kin’s realm. Castiel was tempted to return, so tempted that he looked out over the darkening sky, his own fingers curled into his wrist. He could go back, demand the return of his Heart and his lover but already, he knew, Dean’s soul had been transformed into something else. Castiel had seen Grass Lake Charter as they had been driven through; had felt the renewed life in the area, the flourishing roots, the growing trees, the lush green.

His kin were healed and had used Castiel’s Heart and Dean to become so. Like all existence they’d followed the natural laws; to obtain, something of equal value must be given. Never had the natural way of things saddened Castiel so. Made him feel so incredibly....awful.

Castiel knew that Sam thought his pain would mellow as time passed, knew that the humans below him thought that his grief, like theirs, would pass. But the nature of spirits was that they rarely changed, in form, thought or motion. Instead, they ebbed, flowed, persistent, present, unrelenting. When born from nature, like Castiel, they retained the qualities of the beings they expressed, their musubi. When born from death, as so many human spirits were,  they retained much of who they were in  life.

Twice in all his time Castiel had changed; once, when he met Dean Winchester, and again, when he lost Dean Winchester.

Castiel invited his grief to remain as it was, potent and choking him. He savoured it with a sickening ferocity, mourned Dean until he couldn’t breathe. He had found himself wondering lately if all this human sorrow had been building up within him for millennia, and only now that he had taken that form so completely, was it able to be expressed.

But Castiel’s tie to humanity was gone now, and he felt that void. The tug of Dean he only felt in memory, a love like loss that gaped.

Sometimes, Castiel was in hundreds of places at once, occupying dozens of moments. He could see below in the fading light Sam’s fine-boned hands gripping the wooden handle of a shovel, the dirt within Bobby’s beard which he scratched with grubby fingers, the sweat that had gathered on Eileen’s brow. But these physical confinements were just that, physical, each of the three was so much more beneath, a soul, a spirit; vulnerable, impermanent, but stronger than most knew.

Castiel’s human stomach curdled, sour with emotion. He adjusted, sitting back on one hand to the rooftop while he shifted his legs out from beneath him, pulled his knees up to lean on them, the sweatpants he wore restricting some of his movement.

Castiel did not know how his true form appeared, he had never needed to know. Though he had known every atom of himself since his creation, sensing and emoting with every molecule, he’d never had the means, inclination nor equipment to see how he appeared to others in his entirety. Yet now, scratching absently at the hole in the sweatpants he wore with blunted, dirty fingernails, Castiel wished he knew Dean’s thoughts on his form, in all the vanity that that implied.

Dean had still seemed to care for him underground, he hadn’t been outwardly repulsed. But of course, Castiel’s appearance had probably been the least of his concerns at the time. Still, part of Castiel mourned for the loss an opinion, he never got to hear.

Castiel had yet to find a way to properly express his grief for Dean in a way that he thought Sam might be able to understand. For spirits of his ilk, there was no mourning death because death was the same as everything else; a transformation. Liminal, unavoidable. There was no regret, for Castiel’s kind lived too long for such things.

Death was rarely an end.

Yet, the throat of Castiel’s human body ached around grief unspoken.

 

_____________

 

 

Sam buried his brother for the second time on a cooling Fall evening.

They buried Dean at the back of Bobby’s, the return trip to the Bunker too long of a journey to take his body, to bury Dean with their parents. Sam thought it better somehow anyway that Dean was buried here, in a place where, different from the Bunker and out on the road with their dad, he could remember his brother being happy. Playing games in between the old Junkers out in the front yard, standing with Bobby in the kitchen watching the older man with attentive eyes and a smile as he taught him to make recipes from Karen’s handwritten cookbook.

It was a nice thought, somehow, to know a part of Dean would stay here, in a place where he was happy.

But perhaps not the place where he was happiest.

Cas hadn’t helped with the burial, he had insisted cleaning Dean’s body himself with a fresh cloth and water that he drank from after wiping Dean down. Since then, he’d climbed up onto Bobby’s roof, none of them knew how, and proceeded to look down on the small funeral as though some sort of Gargoyle, stone faced and unmoving.

He had healed himself while shifting between one form and another. Moving effortlessly from female to male to someone not quite recognizable as either right off the bat. That was how he was sitting now, Sam thought, fingers gripping hard at the roof tile as he pulled himself up.

Cas didn’t look across at him as Sam clambered clumsily onto the roof. He stared out at the darkening sky as though it had lulled him into a trance. Sam was unsure if he should disturb the apparent calm, but he couldn’t help the niggling thought inside of him that Cas hadn’t eaten, hadn’t drank anything in so long. It felt somewhat awkward to scold Cas for that. Sam’s boots slipped a little on the mossy tile but he still managed to climb up enough that they could sit together without too much difficulty. Not for the first time, Sam wished he was a little more like Dean, the kind of man who could reach out, lay a hand on Cas’ shoulder and tell him he was there.

Any such condolence was being cut off by the ache inside him. A living, squirming ball of hurt somewhere beneath his ribcage and between his lungs like a cancer. Sam couldn’t talk about it with Eileen or Bobby, with Eileen firmly in recovery mode and Bobby mourning himself, Sam didn’t want to burden either of them. That wasn’t to say that Sam didn’t know that they understood what he was feeling, they’d all lost people before but not knowing entirely how or why this happened, not being able to save Dean, to find another way was weighing on Sam in a mile-long track of regret.

It seemed Castiel too, was trying to voice his pain.

 _When your brother underwent depressive episodes, he would often ask to be alone._ Castiel said and Sam almost fell off the roof trying to sit next to him. _But he truly did not want to be. Yet he would ask and he would demand and he would, would hide from those who cared for him, and even whilst shutting himself away and pushing away others, he desperately, hopelessly, did not want to be alone._

Castiel’s anguish was undercut with an emotion that made Sam understand why he suddenly flew off the handle before, but the simmering ebbed almost as abruptly as it appeared, the emotion in Castiel’s eyes was snuffed out, dissolving from their vivid blue to dull, human pale.

“I long for him, I am lonely for him,” Castiel whispered. “And yet, I want nothing more now than to be left alone.”

 _And that’s why I won’t leave you alone._ Sam thought but did not say. After a few moments where he stared at the side of Cas’ more feminine face, searching for something to say and while Cas stared out at the evening, Sam managed to work out a response.

“It gets easier.” He said. “Bearable.”

Castiel canted his head to look at Sam, eyes swollen, lips drawn. He didn’t say anything.

“I know that seems like empty platitudes,” Sam offered, the words harder to say out loud than to think. “ _I know_ , but, don’t lose yourself in this, Dean wouldn’t want that for you, he would want for you to be happy he would want—” Sam didn’t know what Dean would want and that was the problem, he hadn’t reconnected with his brother enough to be entirely sure. Instead Sam said: “You’re the only part of him I have left.”

Castiel replied in turn. _You’re the part of him I have not yet come to know._

They had a moment to sit in that, while Sam collected his thoughts.

Cas spoke first. _This humanity is messy, Sam. It’s exhaustion and apathy, misery, and guilt. I hurt you and I did not mean to, you have lost your brother as well and I have been…selfish._ He tilted his head to the side, cheek resting on his arm as white hair fell into his face. _I fear that, without Dean, I will continue to be a—a poor example of a human being. Even if that is only in appearance and act. Without Dean…what, what I gave him, fundamentally changed him, he was unable to be what he was without it. But I know here, now that his soul, energy, essence, musubi, is not here anymore it is not—I don’t know where._

 _I’ve been trying_ , Cas told Sam, jaw set firmly, but not firmly enough for Sam not to catch the way he was shaking. _But the human aspect to me went with Dean, a life like this, without him has no point. I feel nothing, see nothing with these eyes, there is no song that can amuse me, no food that can quell my hunger. I sit with you here, in a human shell that feels as though it is hemorrhaging._

Sam held Castiel’s gaze. After a moment of quiet Sam shuffled closer, careful on the rooftop, so that they were almost pressed shoulder to shoulder. “If I could have stopped him, if I could have found another way in time Cas, I would have. I really would have.”

“I would have too.” Cas whispered eventually. He stood up, with far more grace and balance than their precarious a top of the roof and his sweatpants would normally allow. “I need to return home.” He said looking out and all of a sudden, even though human, Cas seemed as though he was about to fly away. _There are things I need to do, people Dean would—would want contacted. I have been gone too long from my lands._

Sam’s heart clenched hard in his chest at the thought of Cas just leaving. Of having to go home to Stowe alone.

“Come inside,” Sam said, before he’d really thought out the request. “Please, have something to eat, drink. We can go tomorrow, okay? In the morning. I can take you, we can go back together.”

Cas’ eyes looked almost black in the rapidly fading light. _Okay._ He said, and helped Sam to his feet.

 

_________

 

The cold morning air was still a shock to Sam’s system. Stepping out from the house and down the porch ramp, Sam pulled his jacket in tight and wrapped his arms around himself as he trudged through the lot, Castiel wearing a mix of Eileen’s and Sam’s spare clothes, came down after him. He veered off from Sam headed for Dean’s plot while Sam trotted around to the side of the house between the piles of discarded car tires, old wrecks and scrap metal.

He caught sight of Bobby wheeled up to a low bench in the shed, battering away at something that looked like a wheel hub. Bobby didn’t acknowledge him as he crunched across the gravel, came up into the shed, standing by his side.

“You’re leaving.” Bobby said after a few tense minutes where Sam just stood there and Bobby kept working.

Somehow, Sam felt a little bit like a child. He stuck his hands in his pockets. “I’m taking Cas home and I—I need to borrow some books.”

Bobby turned in his chair, scratched at the corner of his jaw, and said with words laced with blunt suspicion: “are you going to do something stupid?”

Sam met Bobby’s hard eyes and didn’t blink. “We need a way to stop this bullshit from happening again, Bobby. We can’t have dozens of people killed, whole states brought to their knees every time some business decides--decides to cut down a couple of trees.”

Fuck. All this because of logging. Sam swallowed something sour lodged in his throat.

“And your resident spirit can’t help you with that?” Bobby asked with a jerk of his chin in Cas’ direction.

Sam looked on over, watching Cas as he knelt in the dirt, the palms of his hands resting on the exact spot where Dean lay. His head was lowered.

“I haven’t asked him yet,” Sam said, turning away with his throat suddenly tight. “I will.”

The distressed lines of Bobby’s face deepened, he said nothing and started wheeling out, Sam walked along beside him. “I want to find out what went wrong with all this,” Sam went on to explain. “Cas was supposed to be the last of his kind on the continent, yet now we have another one in Michigan? If gods, or spirits are popping back up again, we need to know how to deal with that. We can’t have an emotional black plague rise up every time a company wants to construct more roads or make paper.”

Bobby nodded, leading them back up to the house. “Already got some people stationed out in Michigan, making sure everything is above level there. So far, no problems just a lot of green.” He said the last with a bit of bewilderment, Sam remembered some of the journey coming back from Grass Lake, how everything had seemed so much more like a rainforest, primordial almost. He wondered how far that had spread.

“Hunting sure was different before you Men’o’Letters all came back into business,” said Bobby.

“There’s more to saving people than hunting things Bobby,” Sam looked down at the older man and tried to smile though it came off a little shaky. “You had a hand in teaching me that.”

Bobby wheeled a little faster, threw out a grunt that was affectionate as it was dismissive. For the first time in days the echo of a smile caught on the corner of Sam’s mouth. He followed Bobby up. “Alright, might have  some books you can look into, got some word on Kami, and spirit realms, pagan deities, granted you yourself probably have much more at home.”

“Thanks Bobby.” Sam said genuinely.

“Yeah, yeah. I hear ya.”

It wasn’t until they got back inside that Bobby took a moment, wheeling his chair around in the narrow hallway so it blocked the rest of the house off from Sam. "Is this the only reason?" he asked, meeting Sam’s eyes.    

It wasn’t. Bobby, Sam thought then, was a shrewd old bastard, always able to read Sam just about as well as Eileen could. “No,” he conceded and steeled himself for any fall back. “Maybe if I can figure out what exactly happened, on an energy, on a spirit level, I might be able to find out what happened to Dean’s energy, soul, like Cas said—”

“Son—”

“I’m not, this isn’t like last time, I’m not trying to bring Dean back or do anything stupid. I just want to know what happened. And make sure what did, doesn’t again.” Sam said, voice losing some of its firmness in the end there.

Bobby’s fingers played over his chin, tugged on the short hairs of his beard. “Alright boy,” he said, and turned away back down the hall as his voice broke a little. “Alright.”

He brought them into the library, where the large open window looked out on the junkyard. Cas was still there, kneeling in the same spot as before. It hurt a bit to look at it, so he turned away, just in time to see Bobby grab a few volumes off of his desk.

“You’ll be wanting this book, and you’ll be taking your girl with you.”

Sam threw both his hands out. “She’s not _my girl_ —”

“Whose girl?” Eileen asked, Sam jumped not having realized she was by the other side of the room, a dusty book opened in front of her.

She must have guessed Sam’s confusion by the small smile that etched on her lips. “You talk loudly Sam, too many years living with a deaf girl.”

Bobby grumbled something under his breath Sam didn’t quite catch. When Eileen leant up on her tiptoes and kissed the corner of Sam’s jaw, Bobby shook his head fondly said and signed: “that lip reading’ll get you into trouble.”

Eileen smiled at him and took Sam’s hand. “I can only do it with him.” He squeezed her slimmer fingers with his own. “I know the shape of his mouth.”

She did kiss his lips then, pressed against him. Heat bled through Sam’s entire body, made his fingers twist and his chest ache. Eileen only pulled away when Bobby started wheeling himself around them..

“Best go fill up the tank.” He tossed out behind him.

Eileen smiled something soft, and Sam felt his finger flex along her waist.

“Are you okay?” she asked him, touching his shoulder, smoothing a hand down his chest.

“Yeah,” Sam managed He breathed out as Eileen smoother her thumb over the collar of his shirt. “Are you sure you want to come?”

“Do you want me to?”

Sam nodded.

“Then I will.” Eileen smiled again, and she rested her hands on Sam’s shoulders, stopping him before he could start. “Sam, we’re going to go, it’s going to be okay. You know Cas wants you with him.”

“Does he?” Sam asked, glancing over to the window. “I don’t know.”

“He is tough to read.” Eileen admitted.

Suddenly, strikingly, Sam wanted an out. He couldn’t do this, go back to Dean’s home without Dean. He wasn’t strong enough to do it. As Eileen held him then, sliding one hand down so their palms held together. Sam lifted their hands together and kissed the back of Eileen’s palm, breathing in deeply. He had to do this. He didn’t care if Dean’s whole new family was there when they got back, asking questions, he didn’t care that they would ask questions, that Sam would take one look at Dean’s little cottage house in the woods and remember exactly everything Dean and Cas now had lost. He was going to go, he was going to go to support Cas. He was going to do this right.

“Yeah,” Sam smiled weakly. A rubbed a hand through his hair and tugged on Eileen’s hand. “Just, let me pack.”

It was a short time later Sam followed Eileen downstairs, hands still clasped together. They walked out onto the porch, duffels in hand and stopped behind Bobby who was seated on the porch, staring out at his front yard.

“Damn.”

Sam followed Bobby’s eye line and took a step back by what he saw. A beautiful, huge, full tree had grown out of the ground Dean’s body was buried within, standing as tall as the house,  lush and green despite the fall season.

“How did,” Sam asked, cut himself off and said again. “He grew that from nothing.”

“No, not nothing Sam,” Eileen said. “Law of conservation of energy.”

Bobby seemed just as struck. “Law of nature more like, and he’s—”

“Nature.” Sam said, a little dumbly. He watched as Cas got up off his knees, touched the palm of one hand to the massive tree trunk for a moment before stepping forward and leaning his forehead against it. His mouth moved without sound, almost as though he was talking to it.

“I heard him speak in my head this morning.” Eileen said, her fingers flexed in Sam’s hand, giving him a squeeze. “I _heard_ him.”

“Fitting tribute I think.” Bobby said, wheeling around the two of them to head back inside. “Lord knows how I’m gonna explain its sudden appearance to the sheriff though.”

“It’s—” Sam’s words caught a moment in the back of his throat. He coughed, rubbed at his eyes with his fingers. “I like it.”

“I do to,” Eileen said. “And I think your brother would appreciate it.” She paused a beat, then motioned her head toward Cas, sliding her hand out of Sam’s she took a hold of his duffel. “You should tell him we’re heading out soon. And you should, you know, say goodbye.”

Say goodbye to his brother’s body. Goodbye at least for now. Sam swallowed. “Yeah, I’ll go see him,” he said, talking about both Dean and Cas in a single breath. He bent and dropped a kiss to Eileen’s hair as he stepped away from her.

Now, Sam thought, every time he found himself stepping off Bobby’s porch, he would feel his focus drawn to his brother’s tree, and see how the golden sun hit just right through its branches.

 

__________

 

Cas was still standing tight to the base of the tree when Sam approached him.

“Cas?” Sam asked, hating to intrude on what felt, rather potently, like a private moment.

Cas blinked his eyes open and lifted his head, still with a hand on the tree’s trunk to turned to face Sam, his mouth unmoving. _Hello Sam._

“Hey,” Sam said, stepping forward a little. He looked up, up, up at the tree in front of him. At how strong and healthy it looked, as though it had been planted and nurtured here for decades and not minutes. “What kind of tree is this?”

 _Emerald Lustre Maple._ Cas answered, on instinct. Sam felt Cas’ eyes settle on his face and hoped for a moment, that whatever Cas saw there didn’t hurt him. Cas was quiet for a long moment, Sam was too, until he lowered his eyes back down to Cas who was staring. He looked away the moment their eyes met, his eyes downcast, cheeks looking flushed against his pale white hair. _I hope Bobby doesn’t mind—_

“No, he’s good with it.” Sam assured. “Probably needed some more green around here anyway.”

Cas nodded, quick, tight, then turned back to Dean’s tree.

“You alright Cas?” Sam asked, he was met with a raised elbow and a glance. “Right,” he edged off a little, felt like a child scuffing his boot in the dirt. “I came to say goodbye to Dean. We’re heading off now—soon, if you’re ready?”

 _Why say goodbye?_ Cas asked, and it took Sam a moment to realise what Cas was asking. _Dean isn’t truly here Sam. If he was, I would feel it._ Sam turned from him a moment, swallowed hard enough that Sam could see his Adam's apple bob. _I would feel him if he was with me._

It was just Dean’s body there, under the ground, under the tree. But still it was _Dean’s._ “It’s a human thing, we’re, we’re more connected to our bodies, I think, than you are.” Sam edged. “Suppose it’s the for the same reason you felt like doing this,” Sam said, stepping forward to touch the tree. Rough, cool, wood. Sam flexed his fingers against jagged bark, grounded a moment by the solidness. He only took his hand back and slid it into his pocket, when he realized he had been silent a while standing beside Cas, leaning heavily against a tree. “It’s significant.”

Cas watched Sam with blue ice-chipped eyes. _He asked me to._ He said, _He asked me to become human, not with words but with desire. I am what I am because of him. I just wish... I knew what became of him._

“Did he—” Sam began, then stopped a moment, trying to sort out his thoughts and his words. “Dean gave your heart to the other spirit to heal it, to help it help us. And that part of Dean, that was a part of you, was what kept him alive.”

Cas nodded saying nothing.

“So does that mean a part of Dean, whatever part of Dean that was Dean and not you, his soul or, or whatever, is still out there, like reincarnation or is with the other spirit or is—”

 _Dean was infused with my Heart from the moment I gave it to him. He gave himself away, as he gave it away and it did its job_ . Cas’ voice as he spoke was long, mournful, like the deep, dried out depths of an empty well. _There’s no shaking in the land now, no crying out. It is just peaceful. Healing_ .  Cas said, shaking his head. _I cannot feel them anymore. My kin. Their pain isn’t resonating. They are well, Dean did that for them. Think of it as a reincarnation if you will._

“So, what? The other spirit’s just _fine_ now, like none of this even happened?”

 _We’re like that, spirits, we do what we need to survive, to protect our lands, to protect our own. They sent the call out for help, help arrived and now we are unneeded, I am unneeded._ Cas shrugged as though what he was saying meant so little. _They are the first of a new generation being born, which makes the need to return to my own lands even more pressing. Things are changing._

Sam wanted to press, wanted to ask more, but looking at the side of Cas’ face, seeing the sad way Cas eyed the air in front of them, he knew he would have time to ask later. To work out a plan. Maybe Cas would want to work with him, him and Eileen, perhaps in the Bunker or in the woods close by.

“I’m ready when you are,” said Sam eventually, stepping back from Dean’s tree.

Cas looked at him a long moment, mostly unseeing but then he nodded, touched the base of the trunk one last time, before falling back.

“I’ll be back.” Sam told the tree, told Dean. Cas didn’t say anything but as they walked away, yet when Sam glanced back, he could see flowers springing up from the base of Dean’s tree.

 

 

**_  
_**

**I-90 E, Ohio**

 

  
They head out eastward, a full days’ trip back to Vermont, back to Stowe, though Eileen insisted on passing through Naperville and taking turns with Sam to drive. The marks of the other spirits ripple effects were everywhere throughout Indiana, having spread down from Michigan, stretched out across Lake Erie and the Canadian border.

The landscape had changed into something almost off-world, craggy, split open with new nooks and crannies offset with patrol forces, derelict and burnt out buildings, abandoned cars all grown over with decades worth of green in a few short weeks. There were signs already of people trying to take back their towns and their roadways which wasn’t a surprise.

The barbed-wire National Guard Checkpoint Charlies they met at regular intervals were no surprise either; nor were patrols stationed at the smaller towns along their route. Off the interstate they spent almost half a tense morning convincing patrols that they were just harmless civilians trying to make their way back home.

They stopped for the night at Amherst after, a place hardly hit by the ripple effects surrounding it. The only markers of the area being affected at all were the whispers Sam heard floating around.  A picked up a  small hotel room with two beds that Sam insisted upon so Cas could sleep comfortably, as he’d been quiet and seemingly ill in the backseat of the car most of the day. Sam laid awake in a too small bed, Eileen unconscious by his side, tired and sore from the cramped driving. He couldn’t sleep, doubted Cas was sleeping either, but the silence was too thick, Eileen too heavily asleep to get up and check.

He heard the other bed squeak as Cas shuffled around.

Sam slept fitfully, if at all.

 

__________

 

They left Amherst in the early hours in the morning, when the land and the green was still wet from the night before. Eileen took the first shift, Cas got reluctantly into the back. Sam gathered himself up in the passenger seat. Eileen peeled them out of the motel parking lot, took them down the interstate. They weren’t long into the journey before Cas reached around from the back and touched Sam’s shoulder.

_Sam?_

“Yeah, Cas?”

 _Do you feel that?_   
  
Sam turned in his seat. “Feel what?”

But Cas wasn’t paying attention, he was looking out the window. He touched Sam’s shoulder again after a few moments and said; _I can fly from here._

“You sure?” Sam asked, turning around, he caught Eileen glancing in the rearview mirror at Cas who was already sitting back, halfway from taking off his shirt.

 _We’re not far, and I need to stretch,_ Cas said somewhat distractedly, hands falling to his belt as he started to unbuckle. Sam tossed his eyes back to the windshield, closing the book on his lap. _It’s very cramped in here._

Sam could agree with him on that, there was a stiffness in his thighs that ached right through to his lower back. God, he was not in his early twenties anymore.

“Sure Cas, just meet us there.” Sam said and though a part of him panged with worry he had to shove it aside.

Cas caught his eye in the rearview, nodded once and unwound the window.

“Jesus, shit!” Eileen jerked then straightened the car all in one shot as Cas evaporated out of the window in a puff of white vapour.

“Hey, sorry, sorry.” Sam said, stretching far, far back as he wound the window back up. When he sat back in his seat and righted his seatbelt, he saw Eileen trying to glance out the side windows searching for Cas.

Sam caught sight of Cas first, flying close above the car’s hood before he shot out, a white blur, wings working hard to send him soaring forward, up, till he was just a white smudge against the sky.

“He needed some air,” Sam told Eileen, who threw him a look but didn’t say anything. “He’ll meet us there.”

Eileen’s expression did several things at once, her brows jumped, her lips parted then puckered. She glanced away from driving, then quickly focused back in on the road. Affection welled in Sam’s chest then, at the way Eileen seemed to be working something over in her mind, but discarded it with something like a sigh and a shrug.

“Do you ever get used to that—” she asked, taking one hand off the wheel as she waved it a bit when words failed her.

“Not really, no.” Sam said, rubbing a hand up into his hair then back down to his temples. A pain had started up behind his eyelids. He flinched as he felt Eileen’s hand slide across his thigh, but eased up when she just took the book that was folded over his leg, dog-eared the page with her thumb and finger expertly before sliding it down between Sam’s seat and the gear shift.

She patted him once on the thigh. “You’ll get a headache.”

Sam looked at Eileen, her eyes on the windscreen, her hand left in the middle of the seat down between them. He reached over, took her hand, and offered her a small smile, while turning his attention down to the radio between them.

Better to rest his eyes for a bit. He’d take over for Eileen after the next stop.

 

 

**_  
_**

**Stowe, Vermont** **  
**

 

In comparison to many of the other small towns they’d passed through on their way here, Stowe was practically serene. A sleepy, mountain side town, utterly untouched in all the ways one would pick up on after a first, maybe even a second impression. It was colder here than it had been at Bobby’s enough for Sam to take a moment putting on jacket after he pulled them up in Dean’s driveway. Though the weather was frigid Sam could sense the sun already lasting a little longer, the hint of colour coming back to the leaves around them, the sap running back through the trees, a little unnaturally, a little prematurely.

Eileen got out of the car first, stretched her arms back and out, turning around to look at the mountains rising in the near-distance, their slopes thick with dense forest, peaked topped with the beginning hints of white frosting. The forest surrounding them completely unspoiled. Sam watched Eileen marveling at the sight.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she signed, turning her face up to the sky, she pulled her own coat tighter around herself.

That brought an unexpected lump to Sam’s throat. “Yeah,” he conceded softly, stepping up to the front porch. Eileen would have really liked Dean. “It is.”

Sam almost let out a watery laughter when he discovered a spare key under the novelty Star Trek welcome mat, _Beam me In,_  that couldn’t have been any other domestic touch but Dean’s. Fuck. Sam couldn’t bring himself to pick it up.

Eileen got it for him. “Here,” she said, a hand on Sam’s lower back as she grabbed the key, set right the mat then opened the door in front of them.  She led Sam in by the hand on his back. “Come on, let’s get warm.”

The house was exactly as they had left it, undeniably Dean’s. Undeniably a _home._ Sam couldn’t speak for a moment as Eileen led them in, taking a second here or there to look around, at the pictures and homey touches that hurt Sam to acknowledge. The domesticity of the home felt like a mockery of their loss.

He felt another stab of regret about coming here before Cas, somehow, it might have been easier walking in if it wasn’t just him and Eileen.

Inside, Sam caught onto a musty smell, and spent a minute just trying to adjust to his dim surroundings, he followed Eileen out into the main living space, tracked his vision across the overstuffed couch, chairs, cold fireplace. Eileen gave that a glance, then headed straight for it.

Sam lost himself a moment in watching her feed chunks of wood from the nearby firebox. He watched her feed the fire, kindling and paper, get the flames started. It took a moment for Sam to work his way out of the reverie. He headed for the kitchen, untouched for so long, most of the fridge was already empty, it wasn’t until Sam closed the fridge that he spotted the note.

“Shit, Aisha.”  Notes, one left on the fridge, another left by the phone. The house phone—and God, Dean had been the kind of guy to have a _house phone_ —was flashing messages. Sam pressed the voicemail icon and all at once he was bombarded by messages, voices.

“Hey Dean, Cas, umm, you said you were just going to be a few days—”

_Beep._

“Dean, hi, it’s Nasim. Aisha’s staying at home now, but we’re still looking out for your place, if you could get back in touch as soon as you—”

_Beep._

“Hey brotha, where—”

_Beep._

“Dean? You’re not answering your phone and it’s been a while, Ben’s been asking after you we—we all have. Where did you and Cas go? With your brother, Sam? We just—”

_Beep._

“Dean? Pick up your—”

_Beep._

“Where are you guys—”

_Beep._

“Brotha, please—”

_Beep._

“D—”

_Beep._

“Dean—”

_Beep._

“Castiel—”

_Beep._

“I don’t know what you did Dean but it worked. It worked. Whole spirit realm’s silent as a bird. The news is going ballistic.  Just please, call me you assholes, call someone, let us know you’re all—”

Sam cut that message off like all the others. Dozens of them, dozens of calls, so many people, all of them having no idea—

Sam felt listless then, stepping back from the phone, he or Cas would have the break the news to those Dean was close to, Pamela, Lisa, the other friends Dean had mentioned once or twice in passing. Sam had already buried Dean’s body unthinking of whether his new family would have wanted to hold a service, would have wanted to mourn in some way.

“Sam? Sam!”

Sam blinked. “Sorry,” he managed, looking up from—Sam realized he was back in the kitchen again, standing in front of the fridge, looking at nothing, there wasn’t much left in there.

Aisha must have taken everything out, Aisha or someone, not wanting to leave the house full of spoiled food.

Eileen touched his arm.

“Sorry,” Sam said again, signed it rather clumsily. He swallowed, resolved suddenly. “I want to get this cleaned up, I don’t want this place feeling like—’

_A crypt._

Sam breathed in. The air was musty with dust, damn. The whole place suddenly felt unclean, too _abandoned._ He stepped back from the fridge and out of Eileen’s arms, started searching through cupboards and draws.

He felt Eileen look strangely at the side of his face. She signed, ‘No.’

“I’ll have a look around.”

“Sam—”

Sam stopped, looked at her. Eileen met his eyes, took a moment, then smiled faintly.

“Try the cupboard under the sink,” she said. “I’ll try and see if there’s anything we can use in the laundry room.”

Sam took her hand before she could go too far. “Thank you,” he said, then signed: ‘It feels warmer with the fire.’  

“Just call me Prometheus,” Eileen smiled.

Sam couldn’t help but draw her into his arms. Holding on tight.

 

**__________**

 

There was something satisfying about cleaning it out of his system, about doing something and seeing tangible progress, something he was actually good at, since he had fucked up his brother’s life, ended his domestic bliss enough that his house was left in a mess like this.

But right now, Sam had all the tools in order to make that right, to do the job properly, to make a difference to the things that he could control. Like the state of Dean’s floors, the layer of dust over everything, easily wiped with a damp cloth. Dean had always taken pride in the places he’d live, whether that was on the road in some dingy motel, or back at the Bunker, growing up in a ‘house’ of seventy plus rooms, a garage, a gun range. All of which Dean had been the only one who’d taken the time to clean, to keep tidy.

Sam smiled a little as he worked, spraying multi-purpose cleaner over all of the tiles, for as long as he could remember he’d associated the smell of pine-fresh and lemon-scent, with Dean, with stability, home.

Sam made sure to spray and wipe every surface, open every window, vacuum every corner. He didn’t sit down until after everything was clean, until after Eileen, smelling like a mix of cleaning spray and sweat, skulled a glass of water from the tap in the kitchen and then signed: ‘there’s no food here.’

‘Yes,’ Sam signed, as she was right, he would know; he’d been the one to clean out the last of the food in the refrigerator.

‘I saw some places as we came through, I’ll find us something.’

Painted nails worked their way through Sam’s hair, pulling locks off his forehead, relaxing enough after a long line from his crown, down his spine had started aching from all the bending. Eileen combed him a bit, one hand slid down the backs of Sam’s neck squeezed his shoulder, before dancing back up his chin, to turn his head toward her.

Eileen kissed his cheek. ‘Will you be okay?’

Sam looked up at her. ‘I’ll just be here.’

“Gone a moment.” Eileen pressed into his temple, half her words cut off by the gesture. He tilted his chin up and kissed her, then let her go.

The house didn’t feel quite as clean when Sam was alone.

 

________

 

Sam wished he could have said he was prepared for it when Cas burst through the front door, naked, muddy, bloody, right past the kitchen table where Sam was sitting, up the stairs to the second landing.

“Cas?” Sam said, kicking his chair back as he got up from the table and followed. “Cas, you made it?”

 _Obviously._ Cas answered, a naked shoulder disappearing ahead of Sam into another room.

“You were gone…” Sam started catching up outside the door. He stopped and waiting when he heard running water. Back pressed against the wall, Sam rubbed at his face, over his eyes, through his hair. When the water shut off a minute or so later, he asked; “Hey, are you okay? Where were you?”

 _I keep feeling him, god, I keep feeling him. He is everywhere here. Every surface, every molecule, every scent.._ Sam heard than a human and very painful, half whispered as though to himself. “Fuck.”

The door opened, Sam threw his eyes up to Cas’ human face, clean now, or cleaner since he’d only used the sink and hadn’t run a shower.

 _I needed to go over see,_ said Cas, he held Sam’s shoulder and squeezed while moving past.   _So, I went and over saw._

Sam stared at the wall for a moment, to ground himself, and when he felt relatively competent again, and was sure that Cas had had enough time to put something on or change he followed Cas down into another room. “You’re bleeding.” He said following.

Cas’ answer came through the walls. _Necessary to reestablish order, Sam._

The door was closed a little, Sam pushed it open with his shoulder. “Cas what did you mean by you feel h—”

Sam hadn’t cleaned in here.

Dean’s bedroom.

It was musty, dark, curtains closed and air thickened. A large four poster bed, a dark chest of draws, photos. Photos of Cas and Lisa Braden, and people Sam didn’t recognize. He saw himself there, a younger him, a child, an infant, being towered over by a stack of old texts in the Bunker’s library. There were about half a dozen pillows and cushions on the bed, some trimmed some patterned. It was excessive, plush, made only the starker against the staleness of the rest of the room by how Castiel lounged within it, a white wolf, his nose buried in the closest set of pillows, his back to Sam.

_Sam?_

“Yeah?”

 _You’re exhausted._ Cas said. _Sit._

Sam sat.

It was a little surreal to see a wolf wriggle over to make room for him. Sam sat on the opposite side of the bed, Cas’ usual side, he assumed from the way Cas was sniffing the side he was on, scratching enough with his paws to lift the blanket up from the mattress, bury himself within it.

Dean’s bed was comfortable. More so than Sam really expected, the mattress was…huh, Sam leant back against the headboard. He toed off his shoes, it didn’t seem as though Cas was going anywhere anytime soon, and Sam wasn’t about to leave him alone.

Or maybe he didn’t want to be alone himself.

“Eileen’s out, getting food.” Sam said, hating to break the peaceful quiet especially here, especially now. “No one has come over, there are a lot of messages on—”

The sound Castiel let out was somewhere between a growl and a whine. Sam shut up, nodded. “You’re right, all that, that can come later.”

He turned to look at Cas’ white furred back, the only part of him that was visible now, beneath the blankets and the pillows. “Are you hungry?” he asked, in lieu of anything else to say.

The lump that was Cas moved, a bottle glass blue eye blinked out at Sam from beneath lace trim. _No._

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Me either.”

The plants around the room, Sam noticed, could do with a water, there was a terrarium on Dean’s night stand that looked as though it had seen better days. The whole room like the rest of the house, underneath the miasma of neglect still smelt of an earthy flower filled meadow. Sam’s eyes slid to the warmly colored wallpaper, less so now with the curtains closed and the overcast, fall day outside.

The starkness of Cas’ voice as it emerged from the quietness of the last few minutes startled Sam.

_You’re a good man, Sam._

Sam tugged a hand through his hair, snorted once the words hit him. “Yeah?”

 _Yes._ Cas said. _I knew you before I met you._ _Dean spoke of you often._

“Did he?”

 _Often._ Cas said again, softly, he kept the one eye fixed on Sam’s face. _You were young and snooping through the Men of Letters Bunker_ . He emerged out from beneath the cushions a little, pink tongue lolling out to lick his dark lips. _Apparently, your Latin was quite exceptional from a young age, you recited an incantation. You became, the blueberry girl from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory—your brother’s words._

“It only lasted a couple of seconds,” Sam cut in. “Besides, it was a constriction spell; my skin was _blue_ because I was _suffocating_. It was a really serious spell.”

_Dean said you were exaggerating._

“I could have _died!”_

Cas cocked his head, the fur on one side flattened a little from how he’d laid on it. _I was under the impression it was a funny memory._

“I mean—it _was,_ but Dean, god,” something of a laugh bubbled up in Sam then. “I can’t believe he told you that.”

_That is not the worst._

“I don’t doubt it.” Sam snickered, settling back against the headrest. Tense limbs feeling as though, for the first time in a while like they could rest.

Cas huffed through his nose, eyes closed. _Yes. There was a New Year’s Eve once, and there was a mechanical bull—_

“Oh, god.” Sam smiled. His own eyes closing, something of a laugh just at the image alone had him smiling.

Cas purled. Voice suddenly soft, as though he was recalling something of a daydream. _You would not believe some of the stunts your brother has pulled in the name of a harmless prank—_

“You bet?” Sam challenged. He could imagine some of the awful things Dean had done in the name of trickery. Hair removal cream as shampoo, had been one of Sam’s least favourites.

Cas shifted up on his paws, resting them on a pillow. The look he threw Sam then utterly met his challenge.

 

**__________**

 

Despite the fact that he was lying on a warm, comfortable mattress, Sam woke and for a moment, for the scantest of seconds, he swore he could feel--

Outside he could hear birds. Inside he was alone.

“Cas?”

Sam scrambled up and out of the warm cocoon of blankets and pillows, forgetting for a moment the pervasive sluggishness of his mind, the aches in his tired body that spread out like wings from his shoulders, crashed down his spine right to the backs of his knees.

“Cas? Eileen?”

Sam moved through the cluttered house, not as dreary as before, but still a little _less_ as though something fundamental was missing. Some hominess some presence, the fading afternoon light already made the hallways and doorways a little darker.  He must not have been asleep for long, dozing more so than sleeping, restful with the murmur of Cas voice telling him stories about his brother. The house had a feeling of being hushed, almost as if it was holding its breath.

Sam knew how the house felt.

He must not have been asleep for long, Eileen wasn’t back. Drifting into the kitchen Sam, took a glass from the cupboard, turned on the faucet and poured himself a drink of tepid water. As he gulped it down his eyes wandered to the kitchen window—

Sam hoped he didn’t smash the glass dropping it back in the sink. He barely even realised he was running until the front screen door was slamming shut behind him.

“Cas?” He ventured, stepping off of the porch, at the very moment he spoke Cas shifted, from a white wolf to a man, skin a little golden with the hour and the fall light. Bare feet embedded in the grass, Cas rose from his crouched position eyes fixed ahead as he spoke to Sam almost disembodied.

_I feel him._

Wind licked at the tips of Sam’s hair, skated over the back of his neck, pebbling his skin. “Wha—”

Across the clearing a deer emerged from the trees, head lowered to nibble at the grass by its feet.

Sam’s heart leapt into his throat. He focused on the glimpses of the honey brown deer he could catch, lean, young-younger than Cas certainly when he appeared in that form. Male for its antlers; nowhere near the branched crown Castiel held merely a few inches in length and covered in a downy fur. Its ears moved at every sound coming from the forest. The cars passing on the Stowe road, the birds chirruping. Yet, it ate sedately, unbothered, right up until Cas started walking towards it.

 _Hello._ Cas said, holding out the palm of one hand as he walked forward.

Sam felt the breath catch in his chest. “Cas…”

The deer froze in place. It stared at Cas with huge, oddly calm, liquid eyes. Its ears flicked back and forth as it regarded them. Its nostrils quivered.

Cas stopped a scant few feet from it, palm still outstretched. There was something comforting about him in that moment, something motherly and Sam felt an overwhelming sense of loss linked to a squirming in his chest he couldn’t quite explain. Regardless, it made Sam want to preserve that feeling in Cas, that stark humanity and give what comfort and warmth he could for Cas.

Sam was snapped from his reverie by the never-before-seen curl to Cas’ mouth, a smile barely there but managed to light up his whole face. He stood, a voyeur and watched as the deer stepped up to Cas, sniffed daintily at his fingers.

Cas’ smile glowed. _We’ve missed you. Here—_ Cas leant forward and pressed the palm of his hand to the deer’s forehead, right between its fledgling antlers. The deer froze, legs splayed, in an instant seeming as though it was about to run.

And then it blinked. Went lax. Cas withdrew his hand.

_Do you remember now?_

A shiver raced down the deer’s body. Its whole form actually _rustling_ , it shook in a way a body with bones couldn’t shake then stiffened suddenly, back, legs, neck ramrod straight, eyes impossibly wide.

Sam’s feet propelled him forward. “Cas?”

 _It’s okay Sam, here--_ he extended one hand out to Sam and beckoned him closer. When Sam was close enough, he circled fingers around his wrist, warm electrifying fingers, and dragged Sam close enough to touch the deer.

 _Dean,_ Cas hummed and caressed the side of the young stag’s face with his other hand. He looked into the deer’s eyes as it looked into his. _Do you remember now, Dean?_

Emotion choked Sam. He couldn’t stop staring though his vision blurred. “D—Dean?”

The deer blinked. Shook its head. It brushed against Cas at it passed, licked at his hand, yet didn’t stop as it stepped around him.  As the deer treaded, the grass beneath its feet started to glow, a golden bright whirl of suspended vapour floated up from the earth and ensnared the deer’s body, covering it entirely as it grew, came closer.

When the mist at last fell away, Sam felt his heart thump hard, once. Twice. It squeezed in his chest, christ, Sam couldn’t stop staring.

**_Hey, Sammy._ **

 

**_-end-_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **thank you**
> 
>  
> 
> If you liked this fic, you can check out what other Destiel fic I've written [here](http://soupernabturel.tumblr.com/post/109621995336/last-updated-27062017-the-stag-and-the)

**Author's Note:**

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> 
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